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THREE  MARGARETS, 


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UNCLE   JOHN    AND   THE    YOUNG    CUBANS. 


THREE   MARGARETS 


BY 

LAURA    E.    RICHARDS 

AUTHOR   OF   "CAPTAIN   JANUARY,"   "MELODY,' 
.    "  QUEEN    HILDEGARDE,"    ETC. 


Hlustrateti  fcg 

ETHELRED    B.  BARRY 


SEVENTH   THOUSAND 


BOSTON 
DANA  ESTES  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1897 
BY  ESTES  AND  LAURIAT 

Education 

,'  .-• 


CDolotttal 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


CHAPTER 

I.  THE  ARRIVAL ® 

II.  FIRST  THOUGHTS       ....••  21 

III.  THE  WHITE  LADY  OF  FERNLEY      ...  36 

IV.  CONFIDENCE       . 51 

V.  THE  PEAT-BOG  .        .        .        .        .        •        .65 

VI.  THE  FAMILY  CHEST 81 

VII.  THE  GARRET     .                 .....  98 

VIII.  CUBA  LIBRE 115 

IX.  DAY  BY  DAY 131 

X.  LOOKING  BACKWARD 147 

XL  HEROES  AND  HEROINES I63 

XII.  IN  THE  SADDLE          ...                  .         .  187 

XIII.  IN  THE  NIGHT  .                          ....  208 

XIV.  EXPLANATIONS 220 

XV.  FAREWELL 237 


3-io 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGB 


UNCLE  JOHN  AND  THE  YOUNG  CUBANS       .         Frontispiece 

43 
73 


AUNT  FAITH'S  ROOM 


PEGGY  AT  THE  BOG      . 

.     105 
IN  THE  GARRET    . 

.     125 
«  CUBA  LIBRE        . 

1 4-^ 
PEGGY  WRITES  HOME 

.     201 
HORSEBACK    . 

227 
RITA'S  APOLOGY    . 


THREE  MARGARETS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   ARRIVAL. 

Long  ago  and  long  ago, 

And  long  ago  still, 
There  dwelt  three  merry  maidens 

Upon  a  distant  hill. 

CHRISTINA  G.  ROSSETTI. 

THE  rain  was  falling  fast.  It  was  a  pleasant 
summer  rain  that  plashed  gently  on  the  leaves 
of  the  great  elms  and  locusts,  and  tinkled  musi 
cally  in  the  roadside  puddles.  Less  musical  was 
its  sound  as  it  drummed  on  the  top  of  the  great 
landau  which  was  rolling  along  the  avenue  lead 
ing  to  Fernley  House ;  but  the  occupants  of  the 
carriage  paid  little  attention  to  it,  each  being 
buried  in  her  own  thoughts.  The  night  was 
dark,  and  the  carriage-lamps  threw  an  uncertain 
gleam  on  the  three  figures  leaning  back  in  their 


10  THREE   MARGARETS. 

corners,  muffled  and  silent.  The  avenue  was 
long,  —  interminably  long,  it  seemed  to  one  of 
the  three  travellers;  and  finally  the  silence  so 
oppressed  her  that  she  determined  to  conquer 
her  shyness  and  break  it. 

"  What  a  very  long  avenue  !  "  she  said,  speak 
ing  in  a  low,  sweet  voice. 

There  was  no  reply.  She  hesitated  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  added  timidly,  "Don't  you 
think  that,  as  we  are  cousins,  we  might  intro 
duce  ourselves  and  make  acquaintance  ?  My 
name  is  Margaret  Montfort." 

"  Why,  so  is  mine !  "  exclaimed  the  traveller 
opposite  her.  "  And  mine  !  "  added  the  third, 
from  the  further  corner. 

The  voice  of  the  second  speaker  sounded  as 
if  it  might  be  hearty,  and  as  if  only  awkward 
ness  gave  it  a  sullen  tone.  The  third  spoke 
with  a  soft,  languid  utterance  and  the  faintest 
shade  of  a  foreign  accent. 

"  How  strange  !  "  exclaimed  the  first  Margaret 
Montfort.  "  Of  course  I  knew  that  we  had  the 
same  surname,  as  our  fathers  were  brothers ; 
but  that  we  should  all  three  be  named  —  and  yet 
it  is  not  strange,  after  all !  "  she  added.  "  Our 


THE    ARRIVAL. 


11 


grandmother  was  Margaret,  and  it  was  natural 
that  we  should  be  given  her  name.  But  how 
shall  we  manage  ?  We  cannot  say  First,  Second, 
and  Third  Margaret,  as  they  do  on  the  stage." 

"I  am  never  called  anything  but  Peggy," 
said  the  second  girl,  still  in  a  half-sullen,  half- 
timid  tone. 

And  "My  home  name  is  Rita,"  murmured 
the  third  reluctantly ;  and  she  added  something 
in  an  undertone  about  "short  acquaintance," 
which  the  first  Margaret  did  not  choose  to  hear. 

"Oh,  how  pretty!"  she  said  cordially. 
"  Then  I  may  call  you  Peggy  and  Rita  ?  About 
myself  "  —  she  stopped  and  laughed — "  I  hardly 
know  what  to  say,  for  I  have  always  been  called 
Margaret,  since  I  was  a  baby." 

"  But  one  of  us  might  as  well  be  Margaret," 
answered  Peggy.  "And  somehow,  your  voice 
sounds  as  if  you  looked  like  it.  If  this  road 
were  ever  coming  to  an  end,  we  might  see." 

"  Oh,  I  do  see  !  "  cried  Margaret,  leaning  for 
ward  to  look  out  of  the  window.  "I  see  the 
lights !  I  see  the  house !  We  are  really  here  at 
last!" 

As  she  spoke,  the  carriage  drove  up  before  a 


12  THREE  MARGARETS. 

long  building  twinkling  with  lights,  and  stopped 
at  a  broad  flight  of  steps,  leading  to  a  stone- 
paved  veranda.  As  the  coachman  opened  the 
carriage-door,  the  door  of  the  house  opened  too, 
and  a  cheerful  light  streamed  out  upon  the  three 
weary  travellers.  Two  staid  waiting-women,  in 
spotless  caps  and  aprons,  were  waiting  to  receive 
them  as  they  came  up  the  steps. 

"  This  way,  young  ladies,  if  you  please  !  "  said 
the  elder  of  the  two.  «  You  must  be  tired  with 
your  long  drive.  This  is  the  library;  and  will 
you  rest  here  a  while,  or  will  you  be  shown 
your  rooms  at  once?" 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  said  Margaret,  "let  us 
stay  here  a  little  while!  What  do  you  say, 
cousins  ?  " 

"All  right!"  said  Peggy.  The  girl  whose 
home  name  was  Rita  had  already  thrown  herself 
down  in  an  armchair,  and  seemed  to  think  no 
reply  necessary. 

"  Very  well,  miss,"  said  the  dignified  waiting- 
woman,  addressing  herself  markedly  to  Margaret. 
"  Susan  will  come  in  ten  minutes  to  show  you 
the  rooms,  miss,  and  supper  will  be  ready  in 
half  an  hour.  I  am  Elizabeth,  miss,  if  you 


THE   ARRIVAL.  13 

should  want  me.     The  bell  is  here  in  the  cor- 

» 
ner. 

Margaret  thanked  her  with  a  cordial  smile, 
the  other  two  never  glancing  in  her  direction, 
and  the  woman  withdrew. 

"Just  ten  minutes,"  said  Margaret,  turning 
to  her  cousins,  "to  make  acquaintance  in,  and 
find  out  what  we  all  look  like !  Suppose  we  be 
gin  by  taking  off  our  wraps.  How  delightful 
the  little  fire  is,  even  if  we  are  in  the  middle  of 
June.  Let  me  help  you,  Peggy  !  " 

Peggy  was  fumbling  at  her  veil,  which  was 
tied  in  a  hard  knot ;  but  in  a  few  minutes  every 
thing  was  off,  and  the  three  Margaret  Montf orts 
stood  silent,  gazing  at  each  other. 

Nearest  the  fire  stood  the  girl  who  was  called 
Peggy.  She  was  apparently  about  sixteen, 
plump  and  fair,  with  a  profusion  of  blonde  hair 
which  looked  as  if  it  were  trying  to  fly  away. 
Her  round,  rosy  cheeks,  blue  eyes,  and  pouting 
lips  gave  her  a  cherubic  contour  which  was 
comically  at  variance  with  her  little  tilted  nose ; 
but  she  was  pretty,  in  spite  of  her  singularly  ill- 
devised  and  ill-fitting  costume  of  green  flannel. 

Reclining    in    the    armchair    next    her,    the 


14  THREE   MARGARETS. 

Margaret  who  was  called  Rita  was  a  startling 
contrast  to  the  rosy  Peggy.  She  was  a  year 
older,  slight  and  graceful,  her  simple  black 
gown  fitting  like  a  glove  and  saying  "Paris" 
in  every  seam.  Her  hair  was  absolutely  black, 
her  eyes  large  and  dark,  her  delicate  features 
regular  and  finely  cut;  but  the  beautiful  face 
wore  an  expression  of  discontent,  and  there  were 
two  fine  vertical  lines  between  the  eyebrows. 
Her  complexion  had  the  clear  pallor  of  a  Cape 
Jessamine. 

Facing  these  two,  and  looking  with  thoughtful 
eyes  from  one  to  the  other,  stood  the  girl  whom 
we  have  spoken  of  as  the  first  Margaret.  She 
'  was  seventeen,  within  two  months  of  the  age  of 
her  dark-eyed  cousin.  Lacking  the  brilliant 
colouring  of  the  other  two,  her  face  had  its  own 
charm.  Her  eyes  were  dark  gray,  with  violet 
shades  in  them,  deepened  by  the  long  and  heavy 
black  lashes.  The  faint  tinge  of  colour  in  her 
smooth  cheeks  was  that  of  the  wild  rose ;  her 
wavy  chestnut  hair  had  glints  of  gold  here  and 
there  in  it,  and  though  her  nose  was  nothing  in 
particular,  she  had  the  prettiest  mouth  in  the 
world,  and  a  dimple  beside  it.  In  conclusion, 


THE    ARRIVAL.  15 

she  was  dressed  in  dark  blue,  simply,  yet  taste 
fully  too. 

"  Well,"  said  Peggy,  breaking  the  silence  with 
an  embarrassed  giggle,  "  I  hope  we  shall  know 
each  other  the  next  time  we  meet/' 

Margaret  blushed.  "  I  fear  I  have  been  star 
ing  rudely !  "  she  said.  "  But  I  have  never  had 
any  cousins  before,  —  never  seen  any,  that  is, 
and  I  am  really  so  glad  to  know  you  both  !  Let 
us  shake  hands,  girls,  and  try  to  be  friends  !  " 

She  spoke  so  pleasantly  that  Peggy's  plump 
hand  and  Rita's  delicate  white  fingers  were  at 
once  extended.  Holding  them  in  her  own, 
Margaret  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then,  bend 
ing  forward,  kissed  both  girls  timidly  on  the 
cheek. 

"Our  fathers  were  own  brothers,"  she  said. 
"  We  must  try  to  be  fond  of  each  other.  And 
now,"  she  added,  "let  us  all  tell  our  tells,  as 
the  children  say.  Rita,  you  shall  begin.  Tell 
us  about  yourself  and  your  home,  and  anything 
else  that  you  will." 

Rita  settled  herself  comfortably  in  her  chair, 
and  looked  meditatively  at  the  tip  of  her  little 
boot. 


16  THREE   MARGARETS. 

"My  home/'  she  said,  "is  in  Havana.  My 
mother  was  a  Spaniard,  a  San  Real.  My  father 
is  Richard  Montfort.  My  mother  died  three 
years  ago,  and  my  father  has  lately  married 
again,  a  girl  of  my  own  age.  You  may  imagine 
that  I  do  not  find  home  particularly  attractive 
now,  so  I  was  glad  to  accept  my  Uncle  John's 
invitation  to  spend  the  summer  here.  As  I  have 
money  in  my  own  right,  I  was  at  liberty  to  do 
as  I  pleased;  nor  in  truth  did  my  father  object, 
but  the  contrary.  I  have  never  seen  my  uncle." 

"  Nor  I !  "  «  Nor  I !  "  exclaimed  the  other 
two. 

"  But  I  received  this  note  from  him  a  month 
ago." 

She  produced  a  note  from  her  reticule,  and 
read  as  follows. 

"  MY  DEAR  NIECE  : 

The  thought  has  occurred  to  me  that  it  would  be  well  for 
you  to  make  some  acquaintance  with  the  home  of  your  fathers. 
I  therefore  invite  you  to  spend  the  coming  summer  here,  with 
the  daughters  of  my  brothers  James  and  Roger,  to  whom  I 
have  extended  a  similar  invitation.  Business  will  unhappily 
prevent  me  from  receiving  you  in  person,  but  my  cousin  and 
yours,  Mrs.  Cheriton,  who  resides  at  Fernley,  will  pay  you 
every  attention. 


THE    ARRIVAL. 


17 


Trusting  that  this  plan  will  meet  with  your  approval  and 
that  of  your  father, 

I  am,  my  dear  niece, 

Your  affectionate  uncle, 

JOHN  MONTFORT." 

"  Well,  I  never  !  "  cried  Peggy,  drawing  a  long 
breath.  "  Why,  it's  word  for  word  like  my 
note." 

"And  like  mine  !  "  said  Margaret. 

The  three  notes  were  laid  side  by  side,  and 
proved  to  be  exactly  alike,  even  to  the  brief 
flourish  under  the  signature ;  with  the  one  dif 
ference  that  in  Margaret's  the  words  "  and  that 
of  your  father,"  were  omitted. 

"  He  must  be  a  very  methodical  man !  "  said 
Margaret  thoughtfully.  "Isn't  it  strange  that 
none  of  us  has  ever  seen  him  ?  And  yet  one 
can  understand  how  it  has  been.  The  other 
brothers,  our  fathers,  left  home  when  they  were 
quite  young,  —  that  is  what  Papa  has  told  me,  — 
and  soon  formed  ties  elsewhere.  Uncle  John 
stayed  with  Grandfather  till  he  died ;  then  he 
went  abroad,  and  was  gone  many  years;  and 
since  he  came  back,  he  has  lived  here  alone.  I 
suppose  he  has  grown  a  recluse,  and  does  not 


18  THREE   MARGARETS. 

care  to  see  people.  I  know  Papa  often  and  often 
begged  him  to  come  and  make  us  a  visit,  and 
once  or  twice  the  time  was  actually  set;  but 
each  time  something  happened  to  prevent  his 
coming,  and  he  never  did  come.  I  think  he 
would  have  come  last  year,  when  dear  Papa  died, 
but  he  had  had  some  accident,  and  had  injured 
his  foot  so  that  he  could  not  walk." 

"  Pa  read  us  the  letter  you  wrote  him  tlien," 
said  Peggy,  with  an  awkward  attempt  at  con 
dolence.  "He  said  he  thought  you  must  be  a 
nice  girl." 

The  tears  came  quickly  to  Margaret's  eyes, 
and  she  turned  her  head  to  hide  them.  Peggy 
instantly  plunged  into  a  description  of  her  nine 
brothers  and  sisters,  and  their  life  on  the  great 
Western  farm  where  they  lived;  but  she  was 
hardly  under  way  when  the  demure  Susan  tapped 
at  the  door,  and  said  with  gentle  firmness  that 
she  had  come  to  show  the  young  ladies  their 

rooms. 

• 

There  was  a  sudden  clutching  of  hats,  cloaks, 
and  bags,  and  the  next  moment  the  three  maid 
ens  were  ascending  the  wide  staircase,  casting 
looks  of  curiosity  and  wonderment  about  them. 


THE    ARRIVAL.  19 

"What  beautiful  twisted  balusters ! "  whis 
pered  Margaret. 

"And  such  queer  old  pictures !  "  said  Peggy. 
"  My !  How  they  stare  !  Wondering  who  we 
are,  I  suppose." 

Arrived  in  the  wide  upper  hall,  Susan  threw 
open  the  doors  of  three  rooms,  two  side  by  side, 
the  third  opposite. 

"  This  is  yours,  Miss  Montfort,"  she  said. 
"  This  is  the  young  lady's  from  the  South,  and 
this  the  other  young  lady's.  Mr.  Montfort  ar 
ranged  it  all  before  he  left." 

"How  kind  and  thoughtful !  "  cried  Margaret. 

"  How  precise  and  formal !  "  murmured  Rita. 

Peggy  said  nothing,  but  stared  with  round 
eyes.  These  rooms  were  not  like  the  great 
whitewashed  chamber  at  home,  where  she  and 
her  three  sisters  slept  in  iron  bedsteads.  These 
rooms  were  not  large,  but  oh,  so  pretty  and 
cosy !  In  each  was  an  open  fireplace,  with  a 
tiny  fire  burning,  —  "just  for  looks,"  Susan 
explained.  Each  contained  a  pretty  brass  bed 
stead,  a  comfortable  chair  or  two,  and  curtains 
and  cushions  of  flowered  chintz.  Rita's  chintz 
showed  deep  red  poppies  on  a  pale  buff  ground ; 


20  THREE   MARGARETS. 

Peggy's  was  blue,  with  buttercups  and  daisies 
scattered  over  it;  while  Margaret's  —  oh,  Mar 
garet's  was  not  chintz  after  all,  but  old-fashioned 
white  dimity,  with  a  bewilderment  of  tufts,  and 
ball-fringe,  and  tassels.  Candles  were  lighted  on 
the  trim  dressing-tables ;  everything  was  spot 
less,  fresh,  and  inviting,  and  the  three  tired  girls 
sank  each  into  her  soft-cushioned  easy  chair 
with  a  delightful  sense  of  being  at  home. 

"  The  tea-bell  will  ring  in  half  an  hour,  if  you 
please,"  said  Susan,  and  she  closed  the  three 
doors. 


CHAPTER  II. 

• 

FIRST    THOUGHTS. 

"  THE  eggs  and  the  ham, 
And  the  strawberry  jam  ; 
The  rollicking  bun, 
And  the  gay  Sally  Lunn." 

"  TING  !  ting-a-ling  !  "  the  silver  tinkle  sounded 
cheerfully.  Margaret  was  the  first  to  leave  her 
room,  punctuality  being  the  third  virtue  of  her 
creed.  She  had  changed  her  travelling-dress  for 
a  pretty  dark  red  cashmere,  which  became  her 
well ;  but  Peggy,  who  came  running  down  a 
moment  later,  still  wore  her  ill-fitting  frock  of 
green  flannel,  the  scant  attractions  of  which 
were  not  enhanced  by  a  soiled  linen  collar, 
which  she  had  forgotten  to  change.  The  fly 
away  locks  were  indeed  braided  together,  but 
the  heavy  braid  was  rough  and  uneven. 

"  Oh,  you  have  changed  your  dress ! "  she 
cried,  seeing  Margaret.  "  How  pretty  you  look  ! 
I  didn't  have  time  to  do  anything.  Say,"  she 


22  THREE   MARGARETS. 

added,  lowering  her  voice,  "I  think  you  are 
sweet,  but  I  just  hate  that  other  girl.  We 
sha'n't  be  fond  of  each  other,  you  may  be  sure 
of  that ! " 

"  My  dear  Peggy !  "  said  Margaret,  in  gentle 
remonstrance.  "  You  must  not  judge  a  person 
on  ten  minutes'  acquaintance.  I  am  sure  I  hope 
you  and  Rita  will  be  very  good  friends.  You 
certainly  must  admire  her  beauty." 

"Oh,  she's  pretty  enough!"  rejoined  Peggy; 
"but  I  think  she's  perfectly  horrid!  —  there 
now !  Stuck-up  and  conceited*  and  looking  at 
other  people  as  if  they  were  stone  posts.  And 
I  am  not  a  stone  post,  you  know." 

"You  certainly  don't  look  like  one,"  said 
Margaret,  laughing;  "nor  feel  like  one,"  she 
added,  putting  her  arm  around  her  cousin's 
plump  waist. 

"  But  come  !  here  is  Elizabeth  waiting  to  show 
us  the  dining-room.  Elizabeth,  we  have  had  a 
good  rest,  and  we  are  so  hungry." 

"This  way,  miss,  if  you  please,"  said  the 
grave  Elizabeth.  And  she  led  the  way  across 
the  hall.  The  dining-room  was  a  pleasant 
square  room,  with  crimson  curtains  closely 


FIRST    THOUGHTS. 


23 


drawn.  There  was  no  cloth  on  the  dark  table, 
which  shone  like  a  mirror,  reflecting  the  blaze  of 
the  candles  in  mellow  points  of  light.  At  the 
head  stood  a  shining  silver  tea-service  and  a 
Dresden  chocolate-pot,  surrounded  by  the  pretti 
est  cups  and  saucers  that  ever  were  seen ;  and  a 
supper  was  laid  out  which  seemed  to  have  been 
specially  planned  for  three  hungry  girls.  Every 
thing  good,  and  plenty  of  it. 

"My!"  whispered  Peggy,  "isn't  this  fine? 
But  how  funny  to  have  no  table-cloth !  We 
always  have  a  red  one  at  supper." 

"Do  you?"  said  Margaret.  "Papa  always 
liked  the  bare  table." 

"  Will  you  take  the  head  of  the  table,  miss  ?  " 
asked  Elizabeth.  "  I  have  set  your  place  here, 
and  Miss- —  " 

"Miss  Peggy's,"  suggested  Margaret  gently. 

"  Thank  you,  miss  !  Miss  Peggy's  at  the  side 
here." 

"Very  well,"  said  Margaret.  "We  shall  sit 
just  where  you  put  us,  Elizabeth.  And  Miss 
Rita  will  sit  opposite  me  and  carve  the  chicken. 
Oh,  here  she  is  !  Rita,  are  you  accomplished  in 
the  art  of  carving  ?  " 


24  THREE   MARGARETS. 

Rita,  who  now  came  gliding  in,  shook  her 
head  as  she  took  the  seat  appointed  her.  "I 
have  never  attempted  it/'  she  said,  "and  don't 
think  I  care  to  try,  thanks !  Take  this  to  the 
sideboard  and  carve  it,"  she  added,  addressing 
Elizabeth  in  a  tone  of  careless  command.  The 
woman  obeyed  in  silence ;  but  the  quick  colour 
sprang  to  Margaret's  cheek,  and  she  looked  as 
much  distressed  as  if  the  rude  speech  had  been 
addressed  to  her. 

Peggy  stared.  "Don't  they  say  < please'  in 
Havana  ? "  she  said  in  a  loud  whisper  to  Margaret. 
But  Margaret  rattled  the  tea-cups,  and  pretended 
not  to  hear. 

"  Will  you  take  tea,  Rita,  or  chocolate  ?  "  she 
asked  quickly. 

"Chocolate,  please,"  replied  her  cousin  lan 
guidly.  "I  wonder  if  it  will  be  fit  to  drink? 
One  hears  that  everything  of  that  sort  is  so 
frightfully  adulterated  in  this  country." 

"It  looks  delicious,"  said  Margaret,  pouring 
out  the  smooth,  brown  liquid.  "Do  you  see, 
girls,  what  lovely,  cups  these  are  ?  Look,  Rita, 
they  are  all  different !  I  shall  give  you  this 
delicate  pink  one,  for  it  just  matches  your  gown. 


FIRST    THOUGHTS.  25 

Such  a  pretty  gown ! "  she  added  admiringly, 
glancing  at  the  pale  rose-coloured  silk  and  rich 
lace  that  set  off  the  clear  pallor  of  Rita's  com 
plexion  in  a  wonderful  way. 

"  It  is  only  a  tea-gown  !  "  said  the  latter  care 
lessly.  "  I  have  brought  no  clothes  to  speak  of. 
Yes,  the  cup  does  match  it  rather  well,  doesn't 
it?" 

"And  you,  Peggy,"  said  Margaret,  "shall 
have  this  blue  darling  with  the  gold  arabesques. 
Surely,  anything  would  taste  good  out  of  such 
cups,  —  take  care  !  Oh,  my  dear !  " 

Margaret  sprang  up  and  tried  to  recapture  the 
cup  which  had  just  left  her  hand.  But  it  was 
too  late  !  Peggy  had  taken  it  quickly,  grasping 
the  edge  of  the  saucer.  Naturally,  the  saucer 
tilted  up,  the  cup  tilted  over,  and  a  stream  of 
chocolate  poured  over  her  hand  and  arm,  and 
descended  into  her  lap,  where  it  formed  a  neat 
brown  pool  with  green  flannel  banks.  More 
over,  an  auxiliary  stream  was  meandering  over 
the  table,  making  rapid  progress  towards  the 
rose-coloured  silk  and  white  lace. 

With  an  angry  exclamation  of  "  B§te  !  "  Rita 
pushed  her  chair  back  out  of  danger.  Poor 


26  THREE   MARGARETS. 

Peggy,  after  the  first  terrified  "t)w  !  "  as  the  hot 
chocolate  deluged  her,  sat  still,  apparently  afraid 
of  making  matters  worse  if  she  stirred.  Mar 
garet,  after  ringing  the  bell  violently  to  call 
Elizabeth,  promptly  checked  the  threatening  riv 
ulet  on  the  table  with  her  napkin,  and  then, 
seizing  Peggy's,  proceeded  to  sop  up  the  pool  as 
well  as  she  could. 

"  I  never !  "  gasped  the  unhappy  girl.  "  Why, 
I  didn't  do  a  thing!  it  just  tipped  right 
over ! " 

"  It  is  too  bad !  "  said  Margaret,  as  sympatheti 
cally  as  she  could,  though  her  cousin  did  look  so 
funny,  it  was  hard  to  keep  from  smiling.  "  Oh, 
here  is  Elizabeth !  Elizabeth,  we  have  had  an 
accident,  and  I  fear  Miss  Peggy's  dress  is  quite 
ruined.  Can  you  think  of  anything  to  take  the 
stains  out  ?  " 

Elizabeth  surveyed  the  scene  with  a  practised 
eye. 

"Hot  soapsuds  will  be  the  best  thing,"  she 
said.  "  If  the  young  lady  will  come  up  with  me 
at  once,  and  take  the  frock  off,  I  will  see  what 
can  be  done." 

"Yes,  do  go  with  Elizabeth,  dear!"    urged 


FIRST    THOUGHTS.  27 

Margaret.     "  Nothing  can  be  done  till  the  dress 
is  off." 

And  poor  Peggy  went  off,  hanging  her  head 
and  looking  very  miserable. 

Rita,  as  soon  as  her  dress  was  out  of  danger, 
was  able  to  see  the  affair  in  another  light,  and 
as  her  cousin  left  the  room  burst  into  a  peal  of 
silvery  laughter. 

"  Oh,  hush  !  "  cried  Margaret.  "  She  will  hear 
you,  Rita ! " 

"  And  if  she  does  ?  "  replied  Rita,  drawing  her 
chair  up  to  the  table  again,  and  sipping  her 
chocolate  leisurely.  "  Acrobats  expect  to  be 
laughed  at,  and  certainly  this  was  a  most 
astonishing  tour  de  force.  Seriously,  my  dear," 
she  added,  seeing  Margaret's  troubled  look, 
"  how  are  we  to  take  our  Western  cousin,  if  we 
do  not  treat  her  as  a  comic  monstrosity  ?  Is  it 
possible  that  she  is  a  Montfort  ?  I  shall  call 
her  Cousin  Calibana,  I  think !  " 
•  She  nibbled  daintily  at  a  macaroon,  and  went 
on :  "  It  is  a  thing  to  be  thankful  for  that  the 
green  frock  is  probably  hopelessly  ruined.  I  am 
quite  sure  it  would  have  affected  my  nerves  seri 
ously  if  I  had  been  obliged  to  see  it  every  day. 


28 


THREE   MARGARETS. 


Do  they  perhaps  cut  dresses  with  a  mowing- 
machine  in  the  West  ?  "  and  she  laughed  again,  a 
laugh  so  rippling  and  musical  that  it  was  a  pity 
it  was  not  good-natured. 

Margaret  listened  in  troubled  silence.  What 
could  she  say  that  would  not  at  once  alienate 
this  foreign  cousin,  who  seemed  now  inclined  to 
friendliness  with  her  ?  And  yet  she  could  not  let 
poor  Peggy  go  undefended.  At  last  she  said 
gently,  yet  with  meaning,  «  Dear  Rita,  you  make 
me  tremble  for  myself.  If  you  are  so  very 
severe  in  your  judgments,  who  can  hope  to  pass 
uncriticised  ?  " 

"  You,  ma  cousine  !  "  cried  Rita.  "  But  there 
is  no  question  of  you;  you  are  of  one's  own 
kind!  You  are  altogether  charming.  Surely 
you  must  see  that  this  young  person  is  simply 
impossible.  Impossible!"  she  repeated  with 
decision.  "  There  is  no  other  word  for  it." 

"  No,"  said  Margaret,  bravely,  "  I  do  not  see 
that,  Rita!  She  is  shy  and  awkward,  and  I 
should  think  very  young  for  her  age.  But  she 
has  an  honest,  good  face,  and  I  like  her.  Be 
sides,"  she  added,  unconsciously  repeating  the 
argument  she  had  used  in  defending  Rita  herself 


FIRST    THOUGHTS.  29 

against  Peggy's  animadversions,  "  it  is  absurd  to 
judge  a  person  on  half  an  hour's  acquaintance." 

"Oh,  half  an  hour!"  said  Rita  lightly; 
"  half  a  lifetime  !  My  judgments,  cMre  cousine, 
are  made  at  the  first  glance,  and  remain  fixed." 

"And  are  they  always  right?"  asked  Mar 
garet,  half  amused  and  half  vexed. 

"  They  are  right  for  me!  "  said  Rita,  nodding 
her  pretty  head.  "  That  is  enough." 

She  pushed  her  chair  back,  and  coming  to 
Margaret's  side,  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  her 
shoulder. 

"  CMre  cousim"  she  said,  in  a  caressing  tone, 
"you  are  so  charming,  I  do  hope  you  are  not 
good.  It  is  detestable  to  be  good!  Avoid  it, 
trds  chdre  !  believe  me,  it  is  impossible  !  " 

"  Are  all  the  people  in  Havana  bad  ?  "  asked 
Margaret,  returning  the  caress,  and  resisting  the 
impulse  to  shake  the  pretty,  foolish  speaker. 

"All!"  replied  Rita  cheerfully;  "enchant 
ing,  delightful  people ;  all  bad !  Oh,  of  course 
when  one  is  old,  that  is  another  matter !  Then 
one  begins  —  " 

"Was  your  mother  bad,  Rita?"  asked  Mar 
garet  quietly. 


30 


THKEE   MARGARETS. 


"  My  mother  was  an  angel,  do  you  hear  ?  a 
saint !  "  cried  the  girl.  And  suddenly,  without 
the  slightest  warning,  she  burst  into  a  tropical 
passion  of  tears,  and  sobbed  and  wept  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

Poor  Margaret!  Decidedly  this  was  not  a 
pleasant  evening  for  her.  By  the  time  she  had 
soothed  Rita,  and  tucked  her  up  on  the  library 
sofa,  with  a  fan  and  u  vinaigrette,  Peggy  had 
come  down  again,  in  a  state  of  aggrieved  dejec 
tion,  to  finish  her  supper.  A  wrapper  of  dingy 
brown  replaced  the  green  frock;  she  too  had 
been  crying,  and  her  eyes  were  red  and  swollen. 
"  I  wish  I  was  at  home  !  "  she  said  sullenly, 
as  she  ate  her  chicken  and  buttered  her  roll. 
"  I  wish  I  hadn't  come  here.  I  knew  I  should 
have  a  horrid  time,  but  Pa  made  me  come." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,  Peggy,  dear!"  said 
Margaret.  «  You  are  tired  to-night,  and  home 
sick,  that  is  all ;  and  it  was  very  unlucky  about 
the  dress,  of  course.  To-morrow,  when  you  have 
had  a  good  night's  rest,  you  will  feel  very  dif 
ferently,  I  know  you  will.  Just  think  how  de 
lightful  it  will  be  to  explore  the  house,  and  to 
roam  about  the  garden,  where  your  father  and 


FIRST    THOUGHTS.  31 

mine  used  to  play  when  they  were  boys.  Hasn't 
your  father  told  you  about  the  swing  under  the 
great  chestnut-trees,  and  the  summer-houses, 
and  —  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  Peggy,  her  eyes  brightening. 
"  And  I  was  to  look  in  the  long  summer-house 
for  his  initials,  cut  in  the  roof.  Uncle  Roger 
stood  on  Uncle  John's  shoulders,  and  Pa  on  his ; 
and  when  he  was  finishing  the  tail  of  the  M,  Pa 
gave  such  a  dig  with  his  knife  that  he  lost  his 
balance,  and  they  all  tumbled  down  together ; 
and  Pa  has  the  mark  of  the  fall  now,  on  his 
forehead." 

Margaret  felt  that  the  bad  moment  had  passed. 

"  Tell  me  about  your  father,  and  all  of  you  at 
home,"  she  said.  "  Think !  I  have  never  even 
seen  a  picture  of  Uncle  James !  He  is  tall,  of 
course ;  all  the  Montforts  are  tall." 

"Miles  tall,"  said  Peggy;  "with  broad 
shoulders,  and  a  big  brown  beard.  So  jolly,  Pa 
is !  He  is  out  on  the  farm  all  day,  you  know, 
and  in  the  evening  he  sits  in  the  corner  and 
smokes  his  pipe,  and  the  boys  tell  him  what  they 
have  been  doing,  and  they  talk  crops  and  cattle 
and  pigs  by  the  hour  together." 


32  THREE   MARGARETS. 

"  The  boys  ? "  inquired  Margaret.  "  Your 
brothers?" 

Peggy  nodded,  and  began  to  count  on  her 
fingers. 

"  Jim,  George,  Hugh,  Max,  and  Peter,  boys ; 
Peggy,  Jean,  Bessie,  Flora,  and  Doris,  girls.  Oh, 
dear !  I  wish  they  were  all  here  ! " 

"  Ten  whole  cousins  !  "  cried  Margaret.  "  How 
rich  I  feel !  Now  you  must  tell  me  all  about 
them,  Peggy.  Is  Jim  the  eldest  ?  " 

"  Eldest  and  biggest !  "  replied  Peggy,  begin 
ning  on  the  frosted  cake.  "  Jim  is  twenty-five, 
and  taller  than  Pa,  - —  six  feet  four  in  his  shoes. 
He  has  charge  of  the  stock,  and  spends  most  of 
his  time  on  horseback.  His  horse  is  nearly  as 
big  as  an  elephant,  and  he  rides  splendidly.  I 
think  you  would  like  Jim,"  she  said  shyly. 

"  I  am  sure  I  should  !  "  said  Margaret  heartily. 
"  Who  comes  next  ?  " 

"George,"  said  Peggy.  "George  isn't  very 
nice,  I  think;  I  don't  believe  you'd  like  him. 
He  has  been  to  college,  you  know,  and  he  sneers 
and  makes  fun  of  the  rest  of  us,  and  calls  us 
countrified." 

Margaret  was  sure  that  she  should  not  like 


FIRST    THOUGHTS.  33 

George,  but  she  did  not  say  so.  "  He's  very 
clever,"  continued  Peggy,  "  and  Pa  is  very  proud 
of  him.  I  s'pose  I  might  like  him  better  if  he 
didn't  tease  Hugh,  but  I  can't  stand  that." 

"  Is  Hugh  your  favourite  brother  ?  "  Margaret 
asked  softly. 

"  Of  course.  Hugh  is  the  best  of  us  all.  He 
is  lame.  Jim  and  George  were  fighting  one 
day,  when  he  was  a  little  baby,  just  beginning 
to  walk;  and  somehow,  one  of  them  fell  back 
against  him  and  threw  him  downstairs.  He 
hurt  his  back,  and  has  been  lame  ever  since. 
Hugh  is  like  an  angel,  somehow.  You  never  saw 
anybody  like  Hugh.  He  does  things  —  well! 
Let  me  tell  you  this  that  he  did.  He  never  gets 
into  rows,  but  the  rest  of  us  do,  all  the  time. 
Jim  and  George  are  the  worst,  and  when  they 
are  at  it,  you  can  hear  them  all  over  the  house. 
Well,  one  day  Hugh  was  sick  upstairs,  and  they 
had  an  awful  row.  Pa  was  out,  and  Ma  couldn't 
do  anything  with  them  ;  she  never  can.  Hugh 
can  generally  stop  them,  but  this  time  he  couldn't 
go  down,  you  see.  I  was  sitting  with  him,  and 
I  saw  him  getting  whiter  and  whiter.  At  last 
he  said,  '  Peggy,  I  want  you  — '  and  then  he 


34  THREE   MARGARETS. 

stopped  and  said,  '  No,  you  are  too  big.  Bring 
little  Peter  here ! '  I  went  and  brought  Peter, 
who  was  about  four  then.  '  Petie,'  said  Hugh, 
<  take  brother's  crutch,  and  go  downstairs,  and 
give  it  to  Brother  Jim  and  Brother  George.  Say 
Hugh  sent  it.'  And  then  he  told  me  to  help 
Petie  down  with  the  crutch,  but  not  go  into  the 
room.  I  did  peep  in  through  the  crack,  though, 
and  I  saw  Petie  toddle  in,  dragging  the  crutch, 
and  saw  him  lay  it  down  between  them,  and 
say,  'Brudder  Hugh  send  it  to  big  brudders.' 
They  stopped  and  never  said  another  word,  only 
Jim  gave  a  kind  of  groan.  Then  he  kissed 
Petie  and  told  him  to  thank  Brother  Hugh;  and 
he  went  out,  and  didn't  come  back  for  three 
days.  He  rides  off  when  he  feels  bad,  and  stays 
away  on  the  farm  somewhere  till  he  gets  over  it." 

"  And  George  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  Oh !  George  just  went  into  his  room  and 
sulked,"  said  Peggy.  "That's  his  way!  I  do 
declare,  he's  like  — "  Here  she  stopped  sud 
denly,  for  a  vision  appeared  in  the  doorway. 
Pale  and  scornful,  with  her  great  dark  eyes  full 
of  cold  mockery,  Rita  stood  gazing  at  them  both, 
her  rose-coloured  draperies  floating  around  her. 


FIRST    THOUGHTS.  35 

"I  am  truly  sorry/'  she  said,  "to  interrupt 
this  torrent  of  eloquence.  I  merely  wish  to  say 
that  I  am  going  to  bed.  Good  night,  chdre  Mar 
guerite  !  Senorita  Calibana,  je  vous  souhaite  le 
Ion  soir!  Continue,  I  pray  you,  your  thrilling 
disclosures  as  long  as  my  cousin's  ears  can  con 
tain  them!  "  And  with  a  mocking  courtesy  she 
swept  away,  leaving  the  other  two  girls  with  an 
indefinable  sense  of  guilt  and  disgrace.  Poor 
Peggy !  She  had  been  so  happy,  all  her  troubles 
forgotten,  pouring  out  her  artless  recital  of  home 
affairs ;  but  now  her  face  darkened,  and  she 
looked  sullen  and  unhappy  again. 

"  Hateful  thing !  "  she  muttered.  "  I  wish 
she  was  in  Jericho  !  " 

"  Never  mind,  Peggy  dear ! "  said  Margaret 
as  cheerfully  as  she  could.  "  Rita  is  very  tired, 
and  has  a  headache.  It  has  been  delightful  to 
hear  about  the  brothers,  and  especially  about 
Hugh;  but  I  am  sure  we  ought  to  go  to  bed 
too.  You  must  be  quite  tired  out,  and  I  am 
getting  sleepy  myself." 

She  kissed  her  cousin  affectionately,  and  arm 
in  arm  they  went  up  the  great  staircase. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  WHITE  LADY  OF  FERNLEY. 

MARGARET  was  waked  the  next  morning  by 
the  cheerful  and  persistent  song  of  a  robin, 
which  had  perched  on  a  twig  just  outside  her 
window.  She  had  gone  to  bed  in  a  discour 
aged  frame  of  mind,  and  dreamed  that  her  two 
cousins  had  turned  into  lionesses,  and  were 
fighting  together  over  her  prostrate  body;  but 
with  the  morning  light  everything  seemed  to 
brighten,  and  the  robin's  song  was  a  good  omen. 

"Thank  you,  Robin  dear,"  she  said  aloud,  as 
she  brushed  her  long  hair.  "  I  dare  say  every 
thing  will  go  well  after  a  while,  but  just  now, 
Robin,  I  do  assure  you,  things  have  a  kittle 
look." 

She  was  down  first,  as  the  night  before ;  but 
Peggy  soon  appeared,  rubbing  her  eyes  and 
looking  still  half  asleep. 

Breakfast  was  ready,  and  Peggy,  at  sight  of 


THE    WHITE    LADY    OF    FERNLEY.  37 

the  omelette  and  muffins,  was  about  to  fling  her 
self  headlong  into  her  chair ;  but  Margaret  held 
her  back  a  moment. 

"Elizabeth/'  she  said,  hesitating,  "is  Mrs. 
Cheriton  —  is  she  not  here  ?  I  see  you  have  put 
me  at  the  head  of  the  table  again." 

"  Mrs.  Cheriton  seldom  leaves  her  own  rooms, 
miss,"  replied  Elizabeth.  "  She  asked  me  to 
say  that  she  would  be  glad  to  see  the  young 
ladies  after  breakfast.  And  shall  I  call  the 
other  young  lady,  Miss  Montfort?" 

Before  Margaret  could  reply,  a  clear  voice  was 
heard  calling  from  above,  in  impatient  tones : 

"Elizabeth!  somebody!  come  here  this  mo 
ment  ! " 

Elizabeth  obeyed  the  imperious  summons,  and 
as  she  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  Rita's  voice 
broke  out  again. 

"  Why  has  no  coffee  been  brought  to  me  ?  I 
never  saw  such  carelessness.  There  is  no  bell 
in  my  room,  either,  and  I  have  been  calling  till 
I  am  hoarse." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  miss  ! "  replied  Elizabeth 
quietly.  "  We  supposed  you  would  come  down 
to  breakfast  with  the  other  young  ladies.  Shall  I 


38  THREE   MAKGARETS. 

bring  you  a  cup  of  tea  now  ?  There  is  no  coffee 
in  the  house,  as  Mr.  Montfort  never  drinks  it." 

"  No  coffee  !  "  cried  Rita.  "  I  have  come  to  a 
wilderness  !  Well —  bring  the  tea !  and  have  it 
strong,  do  you  hear  ?  "  And  the  young  Cuban 
swept  back  into  her  room,  and  shut  the  door 
with  more  vehemence  than  good  breeding  strictly 
allowed. 

Margaret  listened  in  distressed  silence  to  this 
colloquy.  Peggy  giggled  and  chuckled.  "  Aha ! " 
she  said,  "  I'm  so  glad  she  didn't  get  the  coffee. 
Greedy  thing!  Please  hand  me  the  muffins, 
Margaret.  How  small  they  are!  The  idea  of 
her  having  her  breakfast  in  bed !  "  and  Peggy 
sniffed,  and  helped  herself  largely  to  marmalade. 

"Perhaps  her  head  aches  still,"  said  peace- 
loving  Margaret. 

"  Don't  believe  a  word  of  it ! "  cried  Peggy. 
"  She's  used  to  being  waited  on  by  darkeys,  and 
she  thinks  it  will  be  just  the  same  here.  That's 
all ! » 

Margaret  thought  this  was  probably  true,  but 
she  did  not  say  so,  preferring  the  safer  remark 
that  it  was  a  delightful  day. 

"  When  you  have  finished  your  breakfast/'  she 


THE    WHITE    LADY    OF    FERNLEY.  39 

said,  "  we  will  go  out  into  the  garden.  I  can 
see  a  bit  of  it  from  here,  and  it  looks  lovely. 
Oh !  I  can  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  swing.  I 
wonder  if  it  is  the  same  old  one.  I  love  to 
swing,  don't  you?" 

"  I  like  shinning  better  !  "  said  Peggy,  putting 
half  a  muffin  in  her  mouth.     "  Can  you  shin  ?  " 
"Shin!    what  — oh!    up  a  tree,  you  mean. 
I'm  afraid  not." 

« I  can  !  "  said  Peggy  triumphantly.  "  I  can 
beat  most  of  the  boys  at  it,  only  Ma  won't  let 
me  do  it,  on  account  of  my  clothes.  Says  I'm 
too  old,  too ;  bother !  I'm  not  going  to  be  a 
primmy,  just  because  I  am  fifteen.  How  old 
are  you,  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Seventeen ;  and  as  two  years  make  a  great 
difference,  you  know,  Peggy,  I  shall  put  on  all 
the  airs  of  an  elder  sister.  You  know  the  Elder 
Sister's  part,  — 

"Good  advice  and  counsel  sage, 
And  '  I  never  did  so  when  I  was  your  age ! " 

«  All  right !  "  said  Peggy.  "  I'll  call  you  elder 
sister.  Ma  always  says  I  ought  to  have  had 
one,  instead  of  being  one." 


40 


THREE   MARGARETS. 


"Well,  first  comes  something  that  we  must 
both  do ;  that  is,  go  and  see  Mrs.  Cheriton ;  and 
if  you  will  let  me,  dear,  I  am  going  to  tie  your 
necktie  for  you." 

Peggy  submitted  meekly,  while  Margaret 
pulled  the  crumpled  white  tie  round  to  the  front, 
re-tied,  patted,  and  poked  it.  Then  her  hair 
must  be  coaxed  a  little  —  or  not  so  very  little ! 
— and  then  — 

''  What  have  you  done  to  your  frock,  child  ?  it 
is  buttoned  all  crooked!  Why,  isn't  there  a 
looking-glass  in  your  room  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  Peggy.  «  But  I  hate  to  look 
in  the  glass !  There's  sure  to  be  something  the 
matter,  and  I  do  despise  fussing  over  clothes." 

By  this  time  Margaret  had  rebuttoned  the 
dress,  with  a  sigh  over  the  fact  that  the  buttons 
did  not  match  it,  and  that  one  sleeve  was  put  in 
wrong.  Now  she  declared  that  they  must  go 
without  more  delay,  and  Elizabeth  came  to  show 
them  the  way. 

Peggy  hung  back,  muttering  that  she  never 
knew  what  to  say  to  strangers;  but  Margaret 
took  her  hand  firmly,  and  drew  her  along. 
Perhaps  Margaret  may  have  felt  a  little  ner- 


THE  WHITE  LADY  OF  FERNLEY.      41 

vous  herself  about  this  strange  lady,  who  never 
left  her  rooms,  and  yet  was  to  entertain  and  care 
for  them,  as  her  uncle's  note  had  said.  Both 
girls  followed  in  silence,  as  Elizabeth  led  them 
through  the  hall,  past  a  door,  then  down  three 
steps  and  along  a  little  passage  to  another  door, 
at  which  she  knocked. 

"  Come  in  !  "  said  a  pleasant  voice.  Elizabeth 
opened  the  door  and  motioned  the  girls  to  enter. 

"  The  young  ladies,  ma'am !  "  she  said ;  and 
then  shut  the  door  and  went  away. 

The  sudden  change  from  the  dark  passage  to 
the  white  room  was  dazzling.  It  was  a  small 
room,  and  it  seemed  to  be  all  white :  walls,  floor 
(covered  with  a  white  India  matting),  furniture, 
and  all.  The  strange  lady  sat  in  a  great  white 
armchair.  She  wore  a  gown  of  soft  white  cash 
mere,  and  her  hair,  and  her  cap,  her  hands,  and 
her  face,  were  all  different  shades  of  white,  each 
softer  than  the  other.  Only  her  eyes  were 
brown;  and  as  she  looked  kindly  at  the  girls 
and  smiled,  they  thought  they  had  never  seen 
anything  so  beautiful  in  their  lives. 

"Why,  children,"  she  said;  "do  you  think  I 
am  a  ghost  ?  Come  here,  dears,  and  let  me  look 


42  THREE   MARGARETS. 

at  you  !  I  am  real,  I  assure  you."  She  laughed, 
the  softest  little  laugh,  hardly  more  than  a  rustle, 
and  held  out  her  hand.  Margaret  came  forward 
at  once,  still  dragging  Peggy  after  her,  —  Peggy, 
whose  eyes  were  so  wide  open,  it  looked  as  if  she 
might  never  be  able  to  shut  them  again. 

Mrs.  Cheriton  took  a  hand  of  each,  and  looked 
earnestly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  How  are  you  called  ? "  she  asked.  "  I  know 
that  you  have  the  same  name." 

"  We  thought  I  had  better  be  Margaret,"  was 
the  timid  reply  from  the  girl  who  was  able  to 
speak,  "  and  this  is  Peggy." 

"  I  see  ! "  said  the  old  lad}-,  putting  her  hand 
on  Peggy's  flaxen  mane.  "  You  look  like  Peggy, 
little  one!  I  used  to  call  my  sister  Peggy. 
And  where  is  the  third  Margaret  ?  " 

"  She  has  not  come  down  yet ;  she  had  a 
headache  last  night,"  said  Margaret,  losing  all 
shyness  before  the  kindly  glance  of  those  soft 
brown  eyes.  "She  is  called  Rita,  and  she  is 
very  beautiful." 

"  That  is  pleasant !  "  said  Mrs.  Cheriton.  "  I 
like  pretty  people,  when  they  are  good  as  well. 
You  are  a  Montf ort,  Margaret !  You  have  the 


AUNT  FAITH'S  ROOM. 


THE    WHITE    LADY    OF    FEKNLEY.  45 

Montfort  mouth  and  chin ;  but  this  child  must 
look  like  her  mother."  Peggy  nodded,  but  could 
not  yet  find  speech. 

"And  now,"  the  old  lady  went  on,  "I  am 
sure  you  are  longing  to  know  who  I  am,  and 
why  I  live  here  by  myself,  like  an  old  fairy  god 
mother.  Sit  down,  my  dears,  and  be  comfort 
able !  Here,  Margaret,  the  little  rocking-chair 
is  pleasant;  Peggy,  child,  take  the  footstool! 
So  !  now  you  look  more  at  home. 

"  Well,  children,  the  truth  is,  I  am  very  old. 
When  my  next  birthday  comes,  I  shall  be  ninety 
years  old ;  a  very  great  age,  my  dears !  Your 
grandfather  w^as  my  cousin;  and  when, t  five 
years  ago,  I  was  left  alone  in  the  world  by  the 
death  of  my  dear  only  son,  John  Montfort,  your 
uncle,  like  the  good  lad  he  is,  found  me  out  and 
brought  me  home  with  him  to  live.  He  is  my 
godson,  and  I  loved  him  very  much  when  he 
was  a  little  child ;  so  now,  when  I  am  old  and 
helpless,  he  makes  return  by  loving  me." 

She  paused  to  wipe  her  eyes ;  then  went  on. 

"When  one  is  nearly  ninety  years  old,  one 
does  not  care  to  move  about  much,  even  if  one 
is  perfectly  well,  as  I  am.  John  knew  this  (he 


46 


THREE   MARGARETS. 


knows  a  great  deal),  and  he  fitted  up  these 
pleasant  rooms,  in  the  warmest  and  quietest 
corner  of  the  house,  and  here  he  put  me,  with 
my  little  maid,  and  my  books,  and  my  cat,  and 
my  parrot;  and  here  I  live,  my  dears,  very 
cheerfully  and  happily.  On  pleasant  days  I  go 
out  in  my  garden,  and  sit  under  the  trees.  Look 
out  of  the  window,  girls,  and  see  my  green  par 
lour.  Is  it  not  pretty  ?" 

The  girls  knelt  on  the  broad  window-seat,  and 
looked  out.  Before  them  was  a  square,  grassy 
place,  smooth  and  green  as  an  emerald.  The 
house  enclosed  it  on  two  sides;  the  other  two 
were%  screened  by  a  hedge  of  Norway  fir,  twenty 
feet  high,  and  solid  as  a  wall.  Over  this  the 
sunbeams  poured  in,  flecking  the  green  with 
gold.  In  one  corner  stood  a  laburnum-tree,  cov 
ered  with  yellow  blossoms  ;  under  a  tall  elm  near 
by  was  a  rustic  seat. 

"  How  do  you  like  my  kingdom  ?  "  asked  the 
old  lady,  smiling  at  their  eager  faces. 

"It  is  like  a  fairy  place!"  said  Margaret. 
"  You  are  quite  sure  you  are  real,  Mrs.  Cheri- 
ton  ? "  They  smiled  at  each  other,  feeling  friends 
already. 


THE    WHITE    LADY    OF    FERNLEY.  47 

" '  Mrs.  Cheriton '  will  never  do,  if  we  are  to 
see  each  other  every  day,  as  I  hope  we  are. 
How  would  you  like  to  call  me  Aunt  Faith  ?  " 

"Oh,  the  lovely  name!"  cried  Margaret. 
"  Thank  you  so  much  !  Now  we  really  belong 
to  some  one,  and  we  shall  not  feel  strange  any 
more  ;  shall  we,  Peggy  ?  " 

«I_s'pose  not!"  stammered  Peggy.  "I 
shall  like  it  ever  so  much." 

The  girls  sat  a  little  longer,  chatting  and  lis 
tening.  Mrs.  Cheriton  told  them  of  her  parrot, 
who  was  old  too,  and  who  spoke  Spanish  and 
French,  and  did  not  like  English ;  she  showed 
them  her  books,  many  of  which  were  bound  in 
white  vellum  or  parchment.  "  It  is  a  fancy  of 
John's,"  she  said,  "to  have  all  my  belongings 
white.  I  think  he  still  remembers  his  Aunt 
Phoebe.  Do  you  know  about  your  Great-aunt 
Phoebe?" 

The  girls  said  no,  and  begged  to  hear,  but 
Mrs.  Cheriton  said  that  must  be  for  another 
time. 

"I  must  not  keep  you  too  long,"  she  said, 
"for  I  want  you  to  come  often.  I  will  call 
Janet,  and  she  shall  show  you  the  way  through 


THREE   MARGARETS. 

my  green  parlour  to  the  garden.  The  Fernley 
garden  is  the  pleasantest  in  the  world  I 
think." 

She  touched  the  bell,  and  told  the  pretty  rosy- 
cheeked  maid  who  appeared  to  take  the  young 
ladies  by  the  back  way,  and  introduce  them  to 
Chiquito ;  and  they  took  their  leave  regretfully, 
begging  that  they  might  come  every  day  to  the 
white  chamber. 

Chiquito's  cage  hung  in  the  porch,  and  Chi 
quito  was  hanging  in  it  upside  down.  He  swore 
frightfully  at  the  sight  of  strangers,  and  bit 
Peggy's  finger  when  she  tried  to  stroke  him ;  but 
at  a  word  from  Janet  he  was  quiet,  and  said, 
"  Me  gustan  todasf"  in  a  plaintive  tone,  with 
his  head  on  one  side. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  asked  Peggy. 
"  He's  horrid,  isn't  he  ?  " 

Janet's  feeling  were  hurt.  "  He  doesn't  mean 
it!"  she  said.  "And  he  always  wants  to  be 
pleasant  when  he  says  that.  Something  out  of 
a  Spanish  song,  Mrs.  Cheriton  says  it  is,  and 
means  that  he  likes  folks.  You  do  like  folks 
when  they  like  you,  don't  you,  poor  Chico  ?" 
"En  general!"  said  the  bird,  cocking  his 


THE  WHITE  LADY  OF  FERNLEY.      49 

yellow  eye  at  Peggy.      "Me   gustan    todas  en 
general!" 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  said  Peggy.  "  I  think  he's 
a  witch,  Margaret." 

They  went  through  a  low  door  cut  in  the 
green  wall,  and  found  themselves  in  the  great 
shady  garden,  a  place  of  wonder  and  mystery. 
The  trees  and  plants  had  been  growing  for  two 
hundred  years,  ever  since  James  Montfort  had 
left  the  court  of  Charles  II.  in  disgust,  and  come 
out  to  build  his  home  and  make  his  garden  in 
the  new  country,  where  freedom  waited  for  her 
children. 

The  great  oaks  and  elms  and  chestnuts  were 
green  with  inoss  and  hoary  with  lichens,  but  the 
flower-beds  lay  out  in  broad  sunshine,  and  here 
were  no  signs  of  age,  only  of  careful  tending  and 
renewal.  Margaret  was  enchanted  with  the 
flowers,  for  her  home  had  been  in  a  town,  and 
she  knew  little  of  country  joys.  Peggy  glanced 
carelessly  at  the  geraniums  and  heliotropes,  and 
told  Margaret  that  she  should  see  a  field  of  pop 
pies  in  bloom. 

They  came  across  the  gardener,  who  straight 
ened  himself  at  sight  of  them,  and  greeted  them 


50  THREE   MARGARETS. 

with  grave  politeness.  He  was  a  tall,  strongly 
made  man,  with  grizzled  hair  and  bright,  dark 
eyes. 

"May  we  pick  a  few  flowers?"  asked  Mar 
garet  in  her  pleasant  way. 

"  Surely,  miss ;  any,  and  all  you  like,  except 
these  beds  of  young  slips  here,  which  I  am  nurs 
ing  carefully.  I  hope  you  will  be  often  in  the 
garden,  young  ladies  !  "  and  he  saluted  again,  in 
military  fashion,  as  the  girls  walked  away. 

"  What  a  remarkable-looking  man !  "  said 
Margaret.  "  I  wonder  if  I  can  have  seen  him 
anywhere.  There  is  something  about  his  face  —  " 

"  Oh,  there  is  the  swing ! "  cried  Peggy. 
"  Come  along,  Margaret ;  I'll  race'  you  to  that 
big  chestnut-tree  !  "  and  away  flew  the  two  girls 
over  the  smooth  green  turf. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CONFIDENCE. 

"  WHAT  are  you  doing,  tr£s  cMre  ? "  asked 
Rita,  suddenly  appearing  at  Margaret's  door. 
"  How  is  it  you  pass  your  time  so  cheer 
fully  ?  how  to  live,  in  this  deplorable  solitude  ? 
You  see  me  fading  away,  positively  a  shadow, 
in  this  hideous  solitude !  " 

Margaret  looked  up  cheerfully  from  her  work. 

"  Come  in,  daughter  of  despair  !  "  she  said. 
And  Rita  came  in  and  flung  herself  on  the  sofa 
with  a  tragic  air. 

"  You  are  doing  —  what  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  I  have  rather  a  hopeless  task,  I  fear,"  said 
Margaret.  "  Peggy's  hat !  She  dropped  it  into 
the  pond  yesterday,  and  I  am  trying  to  smarten 
it  up  a  little,  poor  thing  !  What  do  you  advise, 
Rita  ?  I  am  sure  you  have  clever  fingers,  you 
embroider  so  beautifully." 

"  I  should  advise  the  fire,"  said  Rita,  looking 


52  THREE   MARGARETS. 

with  scorn  at  the  battered  hat.  "  Put  it  in  now, 
this  moment.  It  will  burn  well,  and  it  can  do 
nothing  else  decently." 

"  Ten  miles  from  a  shop,"  said  Margaret, 
66  and  nothing  else  save  her  best  hat.  No,  my 
lady,  we  cannot  be  so  extravagant.  If  you  will 
not  help  me,  I  must  e'en  do  the  best  I  can.  I 
never  could  understand  hats ! "  she  added  rue- 
fully. 

"  Why  do  you  do  these  things  ?  "  Rita  asked, 
sitting  up  as  suddenly  as  she  had  flung  herself 
down.  "  Will  you  tell  me  why  ?  I  love  you ! 
I  have  told  you  twenty  times  of  it ;  but  I  can 
not  understand  why  you  do  these  things  for  that 
young  monster.  Will  you  tell  me  why  ?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  she  is  not  a  monster,  and 
I  will  not  have  you  say  such  things,  Rita.  In 
the  second  place,  I  am  very  fond  of  her ;  and  in 
the  third,  I  should  try  to  help  her  all  I  could, 
even  if  I  were  not  fond  of  her." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  it  is  a  duty." 

"  Duty  ? "  Rita  laughed,  and  made  a  pretty 
little  grimace.  "  English  word,  ugly  and  stupid 
word  !  I  know  not  its  meaning.  You  are  fond 


CONFIDENCE.  53 

of  Calibana  ?  Then  I  revere  less  your  taste, 
that  is  all.  Ah !  what  do  you  make  there  ? 
That  cannot  be ;  it  cuts  the  soul ! " 

She  took  the  hat  hastily  from  Margaret's 
hand.  Had  the  latter  been  a  little  overclumsy 
on  purpose  ?  Certainly  her  dimple  deepened  a 
little  as  she  relinquished  the  forlorn  object. 
Rita  held  it  on  her  finger  and  twirled  it  around. 

"  The  fire  is  really  the  only  place  for  it,"  she 
said  again  ;  "  but  if  it  must  be  preserved,  do 
you  not  see  that  the  only  possible  thing  is  to 
turn  this  ribbon  ?  It  was  not  wet  through ;  the 
other  side  is  fresh." 

She  still  frowned  at  the  hat,  but  her  fingers 
began  to  move  here  and  there,  twisting  and  turn 
ing  in  a  magical  way.  In  five  minutes  the  hat 
was  a  different  object,  and  Margaret  gave  a  little 
cry  of  pleasure. 

"  Rita,  you  are  a  dear  !  Why,  it  looks  better 
than  it  did  before  the  wetting,  ever  and  ever  so 
much  better !  Thank  you,  you  clever  creature  ! 
I  shall  bring  all  my  hats  to  you  for  treatment, 
and  I  am  sure  Peggy  will  be  so  much  obliged 
when  I  tell  her  — " 

"  If  you  dare  !  "   cried  Rita.     "  You  will  do 


54  THKEE   MARGARETS. 

nothing  of  the  sort,  I  beg,  ma  cousine.  What  I 
have  done,  was  done  for  you ;  I  desire  neither 
thanks  nor  any  other  thing  from  La  Calibana. 
That  she  remain  out  of  my  sight  when  possible, 
that  she  hold  her  tongue  when  we  must  be  to 
gether, —  that  is  all  I  demand.  Reasonable,  I 
hope  ?  If  not — "  She  shrugged  her  shoulders 
and  began  to  hum  a  love-song. 

Margaret  sighed.  "  If  you  could  only  see, 
my  dear,"  she  began  gently,  "  how  much  happier 
we  should  all  be,  if  you  and  Peggy  could  only 
make  up  your  minds  to  make  the  best  of  it  — " 

"  The  best !  "  cried  Rita,  flashing  into  another 
mood,  and  coming  to  hover  over  her  quiet 
cousin  like  a  bird  of  paradise.  "  Do  I  not 
make  the  best  ?  You  are  the  best,  Marguerite. 
I  make  all  I  can  of  you  —  except  a  milliner; 
never  could  I  do  that." 

"Listen!"  she  added,  dropping  on  the  floor 
by  Margaret's  side.  "  You  see  me  happy  to-day, 
do  you  not  ?  I  do  not  frown  or  pout,  —  I  can't 
see  why  I  should  not,  when  I  feel  black,  —  but 
to-day  is  a  white  day.  And  why?  Can  you 
guess  ?  " 

Margaret  shook  her  head  discreetly. 


CONFIDENCE.  55 

"I  cannot  do  more  than  guess,"  she  said, 
"but  you  seemed  very  much  pleased  with  the 
letter  that  came  this  morning." 

Rita  flung  her  arms  round  her.  "  Aha  !  "  she 
cried.  "We  perceive!  We  drop  our  dove's 
eyes ;  we  look  more  demure  than  any  mouse,  but 
we  perceive  !  Ah  !  Marguerite,  behold  me  about 
to  give  you  the  strongest  proof  of  my  love :  I 
confide  in  you." 

She  drew  a  bulky  letter  from  her  pocket. 
Margaret  looked  at  it  apprehensively,  fearing 
she  knew  not  what. 

"  From  my  friend,"  Rita  explained,  spreading 
the  sheets  of  thin  blue  paper,  crossed  and  re- 
crossed,  on  her  lap ;  "  my  Conchita,  the  other  half 
of  my  soul.  You  shall  hear  part  of  it,  Marguerite, 
but  other  parts  are  too  sacred.  She  begins  so 
beautifully :  'Mi  alma—  but  you  have  no  Span 
ish  yet ;  the  pity,  to  turn  it  into  cold  English ! 
<  My  soul '  has  a  foolish  sound.  '  Saint  Rosalie, 
Saint  Eulalie,  and  the  blessed  Saint  Teresa,  have 
you  in  their  holy  keeping !  I  live  the  life  of  a 
withered  leaf  without  you;  my  soul  flies  like 
a  mourning  bird  to  your  frozen  North,  where 
you  are  immured' —  oh,  it  doesn't  sound  a 


56  THREE   MARGARETS. 

bit  right !  I  cannot  read  it  in  English."  Indeed, 
Margaret  thought  it  sounded  too  silly  for  her 
beloved  language,  but  she  said  nothing,  only 
giving  a  glance  of  sympathetic  interest. 

"She  tells  me  of  all  they  are  doing,"  Rita 
went  on.  "  All  day  they  sit  in  the  closed  rooms, 
as  the  sun  is  too  hot  for  going  out ;  but  in  the 
evening  they  drive,  and  Conchita  has  been 
allowed  to  ride  on  horseback.  Fancy,  what 
bliss  !  Fernando  was  with  her !  " 

Rita  stopped  suddenly,  and  Margaret,  feeling 
that  she  must  say  something,  echoed,  "  Fer 
nando  ?  " 

"Her  brother,"  said  Rita,  and  she  cast  down 
her  eyes.  "  Also  a  friend  of  mine,  —  a  cousin 
on  my  mother's  side ;  the  handsomest  person  in 
Havana,  the  most  enchanting,  the  most  distin 
guished !  He  sends  me  messages,  —  no  matter 
about  those ;  but  think  of  this :  he  is  leaving 
Havana,  he  is  coming  to  New  York,  he  will 
be  in  this  country !  Marguerite  !  think  of  it !  " 

"What  shall  I  think  of  it?"  asked  Margaret, 
raising  her  eyes  to  her  cousin's ;  the  gray  eyes 
were  cool  and  tranquil,  but  the  dark  ones  were 
full  of  fire  and  light. 


CONFIDENCE. 


57 


"  Is  he  a  friend  of  your  father's,  too,  Rita  ?  " 
Rita's  face  darkened.  "My  father!",  she 
cried  impatiently.  "  My  father  is  a  knight  of 
the  middle  ages ;  he  demands  the  stiff  behaviour 
of  fifty  in  a  youth  of  twenty-one.  He,  who  has 
forgotten  what  youth  is  !  "  She  was  silent  for  a 
moment,  but  the  shadow  remained  on  her  beau 
tiful  face. 

"  After  all,  it  is  no  matter,"  she  said,  rising 
abruptly;  "I  was  mistaken,  Marguerite.  The 
letter  is  for  me  alone ;  you  would  not  care  for  it, 
—  perhaps  not  understand  it.  You,  too,  have 
the  cold  Northern  blood.  Forget  what  I  have 

said." 

"  Oh,  but,  my  dear,"  cried  Margaret,  fearful 
of  losing  her  slight  hold  on  this  creature  of 
moods,  "  don't  be  so  unkind !  I  want  to  know 
why  they  must  sit  in  the  house  all  day,  and 
what  they  do  from  morning  till  night.  I  have 
always  longed  to  know  about  the  life  you  live 
at  home.  Be  good  now,  wild  bird,  and  perch 

again." 

Rita  wavered,  but  when  Margaret  laid  her 
cool,  firm  hand  on  hers,  she  sank  down  again, 
though  she  still  looked  dissatisfied. 


58 


THREE   MARGARETS. 


"We  sit  in  the  house/'  she  said,  "of  course, 
in  the  heats,  — what  else  could  we  do?     Only 
at  night  is  it  possible  to  go  out.     No,  we  do  not 
read  much.     It  is  too  hot  to  read,  and  Cuban 
women  do  not  care  for  books ;  oh,  a  romance 
now  and  then ;  but  for  great,  horrible  books  like 
those  you  raffole  about  downstairs  there,  —  "  she 
shook  her  shoulders  as  if  shaking  off  a  heavy 
weight.     «  We  sew  a  great  deal,  embroider,  do 
lace-work  like  that  you  admired.     Then  at  noon 
we  sleep  as  long  as  possible,  and  in  the  evening 
we  go  out  to  walk,  drive,  ride.     To  walk   in 
the  orange-groves  by  moonlight,  —  ah !  that  is 
heaven!     One  night  last  month  we  slipped  out, 
Conchita  and  I,  and — you  must  never  breathe 
this,   Marguerite  — and    met    my   brother    and 
Fernando  beneath  the  great  orange-tree  in  the 
south  grove  —  " 

"  Your  brother !  "  exclaimed  Margaret.  "  You 
never  told  me  you  had  a  brother,  Rita !  " 

"  Hush  !  I  have  so  much  the  habit  of  silence 
about  him.  He  is  with  the  army.  My  father 
is  a  Spaniard.  Carlos  and  I  are  Cubans."  Her 
eyes  flashed,  and  she  looked  like  the  spirit  of 
battle. 


CONFIDENCE.  59 

"  My  father  will  not  hear  him  named ! "  she 
cried.  "  He  would  have  Cuba  continue  a  slave, 
she,  who  will  be  the  queen  and  goddess  of  the 
sea  when  the  war  is  over !  Ah,  Marguerite  ! 
my  heart  is  on  flame  when  I  speak  of  my 
country.  Well,  —  we  met  them  there.  They 
are  both  with  the  army,  the  insurgents,  as  the 
Spaniards  call  them.  We  walked  up  and  down. 
The  orange-blossoms  were  so  sweet,  the  fragrance 
hung  like  clouds  in  the  air.  I  had  a  lace  man 
tilla  over  my  head,  —  I  will  show  it  to  you  one 
day.  We  talked  of  Cuba  libre,  and  they  told  us 
how  they  live  there  in  the  mountains.  Ah  !  if 
a  girl  could  fight,  would  I  be  here  ?  No ;  a 
sword  should  be  by  my  side,  a  plume  in  my  hat, 
and  I  would  be  with  Carlos  and  Fernando  in  the 
mountains.  Well,  —  ah,  the  bad  part  is  to 
come  !  Carlos  had  been  wounded ;  his  arm  was 
in  a  sling.  Folly,  to  make  it  of  a  white  hand 
kerchief!  The  senora  —  my  father's  wife  — 
must  have  seen  it  shining  among  the  trees ;  we 
know  it  must  have  been  that,  for  we  girls  wore 
black  dresses  of  purpose,  —  a  woman  thinks  of 
what  a  man  never  dreams  of.  She  called 
my  father ;  he  came  out,  raging.  We  had  a 


60  THREE   MARGARETS. 

fine  scene.  Burning  words  passed  between  my 
father  and  Carlos.  They  vowed  never  to  see 
each  other  more.  They  went,  and  Conchita 
and  I  go  fainting,  dying,  into  the  house.  Three 
days  after  comes  my  uncle's  letter,  —  behold  me 
here  !  Marguerite,  this  is  my  story.  Preserve 
it  in  your  bosom,  it  is  a  sacred  confidence." 

Margaret  hardly  knew  whether  she  were  in 
real  life,  or  in  a  theatre.  Rita's  voice,  though 
low,  vibrated  with  passion  ;  her  eyes  were  liquid 
fire  ;  her  little  hands  clenched  themselves,  and 
she  drew  her  breath  in  through  her  closed  teeth 
with  a  savage  sound.  Then,  suddenly,  all  was 
changed,  She  flung  her  arms  apart,  and  burst 
into  laughter. 

"  Your  face  !  "  she  cried.  "  Marguerite,  your 
face !  what  a  study  of  horror  !  You,  cool 
stream,  flowing  over  white  sands,  you  have 
never  seen  a  rapid,  how  much  less  a  torrent. 
You,  do  you  know  what  life  is  ?  My  faith,  I 
think  not !  I  frighten  you,  my  cousin." 

Margaret  was  indeed  troubled  as  well  as  ab 
sorbed  in  all  she  had  heard.  What  a  volcano 
this  girl  was  !  What  might  she  not  do  or  say, 
in  some  moment  of  passion  ?  This  was  all  new 


CONFIDENCE.  61 

to  Margaret ;  her  life  had  been  so  sheltered,  a 
quiet  stream  indeed,  till  her  father's  death  the 
year  before.  She  had  known  few  girls  save  her 
schoolmates,  for  the  most  part  quiet,  studious 
girls  like  herself.  She  had  lived  a  great  deal  in 
books,  and  knew  far  more  about  Spain  in  the 
sixteenth  century  than  Cuba  in  the  nineteenth. 
What  should  she  do  ?  How  should  she  learn  to 
curb  and  help  these  two  restless  spirits,  so  dif 
ferent,  yet  both  turning  to  her  and  flying  in 
detestation  from  each  other  ? 

Pondering  thus,  she  made  no  reply  for  a  mo 
ment;  but  Rita  was  in  no  mood  to  endure 
silence. 

"  Statue !  "  she  cried.  "  Thing  of  marble !  I 
pour  out  my  soul  to  you,  and  you  have  no 
words  for  me !  And  we  have  been  here  a  week, 
a  mortal,  suffering  week,  and  I  know  nothing  of 
your  life,  your  thought.  Tell  me,  you,  how  you 
have  lived,  before  you  came  here.  I  frighten 
you,  I  see  it ;  try  now  if  you  can  tame  me." 

She  laughed  again,  and  shook  all  her  pretty 
ribbons  and  frills.  Every  day  she  dressed  as  if 
for  a  f£te,  and  took  a  mournful  pleasure  in  re 
flecting  how  her  toilets  were  all  wasted. 


62  THREE   MARGARETS. 

"How  did  I  live?"  said  Margaret  vaguely. 
"Oh,  very  quietly,  Rita.  So  quietly,  I  don't 
think  you  would  care  to  hear  about  my  days." 

"I  burn  to  hear!"  cried  Rita.  "I  perish! 
Continue,  Marguerite." 

"I  lived  with  my  dear  father."  Margaret 
spoke  slowly  and  reluctantly.  Her  memories 
were  so  precious,  she  could  not  bear  to  drag 
them  out,  and  expose  them  to  curious,  perhaps 
unloving,  eyes. 

"Our  house  was  in  Blankton,  a  tiny  little 
house,  just  big  enough  for  Father  and  me ;  my 
mother  died,  you  know,  a  good  many  years  ago, 
and  Father  and  I  have  been  always  together. 
He  wrote  a  great  deal,  —  historical  work,  —  and 
I  helped  him,  and  wrote  for  him,  and  read  with 
him.  Then  —  oh,  I  went  to  school,  of  course, 
and  we  walked  every  afternoon,  and  in  the 
evening  Father  read  aloud  while  I  worked,  and  I 
played  and  sang  for  him.  You  see,  Rita,  there 
really  is  not  much  to  tell." 

Not  much !  yet  in  the  telling,  the  girl  felt  her 
heart  beat  high  and  painfully,  and  the  sobs  rise 
in  her  throat,  as  the  dear,  happy,  peaceful  days 
came  back  to  her;  the  blessed  home  life,  the 


CONFIDENCE. 


63 


love  which  hedged  her  in  so  that  no  rough  wind 
should  blow  on  her,  the  wise,  kindly,  loving 
companionship  of  him  who  had  been  father  and 
mother  both  to  her.  The  tears  came  to  her  eyes, 
and  she  was  silent,  feeling  that  she  could  not 
speak  for  the  moment.  Rita  was  thoughtful, 
too,  and  when  she  spoke  again,  it  was  in  a 
softened  tone. 

"  I  can  picture  it !  "  she  said.  "  It  is  a  picture 
without  colour ;  I  could  not  have  borne  such  a 
life;  but  for  you,  Marguerite,  so  tranquil,  de 
manding  so  little,  with  peace  in  your  soul,  it 
must  have  been  sweet.  And  now,  —  after  this 
summer  here,  only  not  horrible  because  in  it 
I  learn  to  know  my  dear  Marguerite,  —  after  this 
summer,  what  do  you  do  ?  what  is  your  life  ?  " 

"1  hope  to  get  a  position  as  teacher,"  said 
Margaret.  "Then,  when  I  have  earned  some 
thing,  I  shall  go  to  the  Library  School,  and  learn 
to  be  a  librarian ;  that  has  been  my  dream  for 
a  long  time." 

"Your  nightmare!"  cried  Rita.  "What 
dreadful  things  even  to  think  about,  Marguerite ! 
But  it  shall  not  be;  never,  I  tell  you!  You 
shall  come  back  with  me  to  Cuba,  and  be  my 


64  THREE   MARGARETS. 

sister.  I  have  money  —  oceans,  I  believe ;  mor.e 
than  I  can  spend,  try  as  I  will.  You  shall  live 
with  me;  we  will  buy  a  plantation,  orange- 
groves,  sugar-cane,  —  you  shall  study  cultivation, 
I  will  ride  about  the  plantation  —  " 

"  By  moonlight  ?  "  asked  Marguerite  mischiev 
ously. 

"  Always  by  moonlight !  "  cried  Rita.  "  It 
shall  be  always  moonlight !  Carlos  shall  be  our 
intendant,  and  Fernando  —  " 

"  I  think  Fernando  would  much  better  stay  in 
the  mountains !  "  said  Margaret  decidedly. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    PEAT-BOG. 

IT  was  a  great  relief  to  Margaret  to  carry 
her  perplexities  to  Aunt  Faith  and  talk  them 
over.  Mrs.  Cheriton's  mind  and  sympathies 
were  as  quick  and  alert  as  if  she  were  still  a 
young  woman,  instead  of  being  near  the  round 
ing  of  the  completed  century.  She  listened  with 
kindly  interest,  and  her  wise  and  tender  words 
cleared  away  many  of  the  cobwebs  of  anxiety 
that  beset  Margaret's  sky. 

"  Let  patience  have  her  perfect  work ! "  she 
was  fond  of  saying.  "  Neither  of  these  children 
is  to  be  led  by  precept,  I  think.  Make  your  own 
ways,  ways  of  pleasantness  as  well  as  paths  of 
peace,  and  soon  or  late  they  will  fall  into  them. 
You  cannot  expect  to  do  much  in  a  week,  or  two 
weeks,  or  three  weeks.  Or  it  may  be,"  she 
would  add,  "  that  you  are  not  to  do  it  after  all ; 
it  may  be  that  other  things  and  persons  will  be 


66  THREE   MARGARETS. 

called  in.  The  ordering  is  wise,  but  we  cannot 
often  understand  it,  for  it  is  written  in  cipher. 
Do  you  only  the  best  you  can,  my  child,  and 
keep  your  own  head  steady,  and  you  will  find 
the  others  settling  into  harness  before  long." 

"It  distresses  me,"  Margaret  said,  "to  have 
Rita  so  rude  to  the  servants.  I  cannot  speak  to 
her  about  that,  I  suppose ;  but  it  is  really  too 
bad.  Elizabeth  is  so  sensible,  I  am  sure  she 
understands  how  it  all  is;  but — well,  the  gar 
dener,  Aunt  Faith !  John  Strong !  Why,  any 
one  can  see  that  he  is  an  uncommon  man ;  not 
the  least  an  ordinary  labouring  man.  Do  you 
know  how  much  he  knows  ?  " 

Mrs.  Cheriton  nodded.  "John  Strong  is  a 
very  remarkable  man,"  she  said ;  "  you  are 
right  there,  Margaret.  And  Rita  is  uncivil  to 
him  ?  Do  you  know,  I  should  not  trouble  my 
self  about  that  if  I  were  you.  If  Elizabeth  can 
understand  that  Rita  has  been  brought  up  with 
out  learning  any  respect  for  the  dignity  of  labour, 
John  Strong  will  understand  it  twice  as  well, 
for  he  has  more  than  twice  the  intelligence." 

"  Thank  you,  Aunt  Faith  !  You  are  so  com 
forting!  He  —  he  has  been  here  a  long  time, 


THE    PEAT-BOG.  67 

has  he  not  ?  I  should  think  my  uncle  must  have 
great  confidence  in  him ;  and  he  has  such  beauti 
ful  manners ! " 

"His  manners,"  said  Mrs.  Cheriton  emphati 
cally,  "are  perfect."  Then  she  said,  changing 
the  subject  rather  hastily,  "  And  where  are  the 
two  other  girls  to-day,  my  dear?  They  do  not 
incline  to  come  to  me  often,  I  perceive.  It  is 
not  strange;  many  very  young  people  dislike 
the  sight  of  extreme  age ;  you  have  been  taught 
differently,  iny  dear,— Roger  Montf ort  was  always 
a  thoughtful,  sensible  lad,  like  John.  No,  I  do 
not  blame  them  in  the  least  for  keeping  away, 
but  I  like  to  know  what  they  are  doing." 

«I —  I  don't  really  know,  just  now,"  and 
Margaret  hung  her  head  a  little  ;  "Peggy  wanted 
me  to  go  to  walk  with  her  an  hour  or  so  ago, 
but  I  was  just  reading  a  book  that  Papa  had 
always  told  me  about,  — ' The  Fool  of  Quality;' 
you  know  it?  —  and  I  did  not  want  to  leave  it. 
I  ought  to  have  gone ;  I  will  go  now,  and  see 
where  they  both  are.  Dear  Aunt  Faith,  thank 
you  so  much  for  letting  me  come  and  talk  to 
you ;  you  can't  think  what  a  relief  it  is  when  I 
am  puzzled." 


68  THREE   MARGARETS. 

The  old  lady's  sweet  smile  lingered  like  a 
benediction  with  Margaret,  as  she  went  back  to 
the  main  house,  carefully  closing  the  door  that 
shut  off  the  white  rooms.  Surely  she  had  been 
selfish  to  stay  indoors  with  a  book,  instead  of 
going  out  with  her  cousin;  but  oh,  the  book 
understood  her  so  much  better,  and  was  so 
much  more  companionable!  Now,  however, 
she  would  be  good,  and  would  go  and  see  what 
both  the  cousins  were  doing.  They  were  not 
together,  of  course ;  Rita  was  very  likely  asleep 
at  this  hour ;  but  Peggy,  what  had  Peggy  been 
doing  ? 

What  had  Peggy  been  doing? 

She  had  sauntered  out  rather  disconsolately, 
on  Margaret's  refusing  to  accompany  her.  She 
was  so  used  to  being  one  of  a  large,  shouting, 
struggling  family,  that  she  felt,  perhaps  more 
than  any  of  the  three  girls,  the  retirement  and 
quiet  of  Fernley.  She  wanted  to  run  and 
scream  and  make  a  noise,  but  there  was  no 
fun  in  doing  it  alone.  If  Jean  were  only  here ! 

She  went  through  the  garden,  and  found  some 
consolation  in  a  talk  with  John  Strong,  who, 
always  the  pink  of  courtesy,  leaned  on  his  hoe, 


THE    PEAT-BOG.  69 

and  told  her  many  valuable  things  concerning 
the  late  planting.  Her  questions  were  shrewd 
and  intelligent,  for  Peggy  had  not  lived  on  a 
farm  for  nothing,  and  she  already  knew  more 
about  the  possibilities  of  Fernley  than  Margaret 
or  Rita  would  learn  in  a  year. 

"Where  shall  I  go  for  a  walk?"  she  asked, 
when  John  Strong  showed  signs  of  thinking 
about  his  work  again.  "  I  hate  to  go  alone,  but 
no  one  would  come  with  me.  I  have  been  over 
the  hill  and  into  the  oak  woods.  What  is  an 
other  nice  way  to  go,  where  there  will  be  straw 
berries  ?  " 

John  Strong  considered.  "About  two  miles 
from  here,  miss,  you'll  find  a  very  pretty  straw 
berry  patch.  Go  through  the  oak  woods  and 
along  beside  the  bog ;  but  be  careful  not  to  step 
into  the  bog  itself,  for  it  is  a  treacherous  bit." 

"  What  kind  of  a  bog  ?  Why  don't  you  drain 
it  ? "  asked  Peggy. 

"It  is  a  peat-bog,"  returned  the  gardener. 
"  It  would  be  a  very  costly  matter  to  drain  it, 
but  I  believe  Mr.  Montfort  is  thinking  of  it, 
miss.  A  short  way  beyond  the  woods  you'll 
come  upon  the  strawberry  meadow ;  it  is  the 


70  THREE   MARGARETS. 

best  I  know  of  hereabouts.  Good  morning, 
miss." 

Off  went  Peggy,  swinging  her  hat  by  the  rib 
bon,  a  loop  of  which  was  coming  off,  and  think 
ing  of  home  and  of  Jean,  her  most  intimate 
sister.  She  loved  Margaret  dearly  already,  but 
one  had  always  to  be  on  one's  good  behaviour 
with  her,  she  was  so  good  herself.  Oh,  how 
delightful  it  would  be  to  have  Jean  here,  and 
to  have  a  race  through  the  woods,  and  then  a 
good,  jolly  romp,  and  perhaps  a  "spat,"  before 
they  settled  down  to  the  business  of  strawberry- 
picking  !  She  could  have  spats  enough  with  that 
horrid,  spiteful  Cuban  girl,  but  there  was  no  fun 
in  those;  just  cold,  sneering  hatefulness.  Think 
ing  of  her  cousin  Rita,  Peggy  gave  her  hat  a 
twist  and  a  fling,  and  sent  it  flying  across  the 
green  meadow  on  which  she  was  now  entering. 

"There!"  she  said,  "I  just  wish  that  was 
you,  Miss  Rita,  —  I  do  !  I  wouldn't  help  you 
up,  either." 

Then,  rather  ashamed  of  her  outburst,  she 
went  to  pick  up  the  hat  again  ;  but,  setting  foot 
on  the  edge  of  the  green  meadow,  she  drew  it 
back  hastily. 


THE    PEAT-BOG.  71 

"  Aha !  "  said  Peggy.  "  The  peat-bog  !  Now 
I  Ve  been  and  gone  and  done  it !  " 

She  whistled,  a  long,  clear  whistle  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  any  one  of  her  brothers,  and 
gazed  ruefully  at  the  hat,  which  lay  out  of 
reach,  resting  quietly  on  the  smooth  emerald 
velvet  of  the  quaking  bog. 

"  Oh,  bother  !  Now  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to 
fish  the  old  thing  out.  It  will  never  look  fit  to 
be  seen  again,  and  Margaret  retrimmed  it  only 
the  other  day.  Well,  here  goes  !  " 

Looking  about  carefully,  Peggy  pulled  a  long 
bulrush  from  a  clump  that  grew  at  the  side  of 
the  bog.  Then  she  walked  along  the  edge, 
skirting  with  care  the  deceitful  green  that 
looked  so  fair  and  lovely,  till  she  came  to  where 
a  slender  birch  hung  its  long  drooping  branches 
out  over  the  bog.  Clinging  to  one  of  these 
branches,  Peggy  leaned  forward  as  far  as  she 
dared,  and  began  to  angle  for  her  hat.  "He 
rises  well,"  she  muttered,  "  but  he  doesn't  bite 
worth  a  cent." 

Twice  she  succeeded  in  working  the  end  of 
the  bulrush  through  the  loop  of  ribbon  that 
perked  cheerfully  on  the  top  of  the  hat ;  twice 


72  THREE   MARGARETS. 

the  loop  slipped  off  as  she  raised  it,  and  the  hat 
dropped  back.  The  third  time,  however,  was 
successful,  and  the  skilful  angler  had  the  satis 
faction  of  drawing  the  hat  toward  her,  and 
finally  rescuing  it  from  its  perilous  position. 
Not  all  of  it,  however ;  the  flower,  the  yellow 
rose,  once  Peggy's  pride  and  joy,  had  become 
loosened  during  the  various  unaccustomed  mo 
tions  of  its  parent  hat,  and  now  lay,  lonely  and 
lovely,  a  golden  spot  on  the  bright  green  grass. 
Peggy  fished  again,  but  this  time  in  vain ;  and 
finally  she  was  obliged  to  give  it  up,  and  go  off 
flowerless  in  search  of  her  strawberries. 

Meanwhile,  Margaret  had  been  searching  high 
and  low  for  Peggy.  John  Strong  could  have 
told  her  where  she  was,  but  he  had  gone  to  a 
distant  part  of  the  farm,  and  no  one  had  seen 
the  two  talking  together. 

"  A  search  for  Calibana  ?  "  said  Kita,  when 
her  cousin  inquired  for  the  wanderer.  "My 
faith,  why  ?  If  she  can  remain  hidden  for  a 
time,  Marguerite,  consider  the  boon  it  would 
be ! " 

But  Margaret  turned  from  her  impatiently, 
seeing  which,  Rita  was  jealous,  and  said,  "  I  had 


KS         '^ 


PEGGY    AT    THE    BOG. 


THE    PEAT-BOG.  75 

» 

hoped  you  would  take  a  walk  with  me,  ma  cou- 
sine.  I  perish  for  air !  I  cannot  go  alone 
through  these  places, — I  might  meet  a  dog." 

Margaret  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  I  think  you  might,"  she  said.  "  And  what 
then?" 

"  I  should  die  !  "  said  Rita  simply.  Then, 
linking  her  arm  in  her  cousin's  with  her  most 
caressing  gesture,  she  said,  "  Come  with  me, 
alma  miq.  We  walk,  —  very  likely  we  find  La 
Calibana  on  our  way.  She  cannot  have  strayed 
far,  it  is  too  near  dinner-time  ;  and  she  has  a 
clock  inside  her ;  you  know  it  well,  Marguerite." 

Margaret  could  not  refuse  the  offered  com 
pany,  and  they  set  out  in  the  same  direction 
that  Peggy  had  taken.  Margaret  had  been  in 
the  oak  woods  several  times  with  Peggy,  and 
thought  she  might  very  likely  find  her  there  ; 
but  no  one  answered  her  call ;  only  the  trees 
rustled,  and  the  hermit-thrush  called  in  answer, 
deep  in  some  thicket  far  away.  Presently,  as 
they  walked,  there  shot  through  the  dark  oak 
branches  a  sunny  gleam,  a  flash  of  green  and 
gold.  They  pressed  forward,  and  in  another 
moment  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  quaking  bog. 


^6  THREE   MARGARETS. 

4 

But  they  had  not  been  warned ;  neither  had  they 
Peggy's  practised  eye,  which  would  have  told 
her  even  without  the  warning  that  this  was  no 
safe  place. 

"Oh,  what  a  lovely  meadow!"  cried  Mar 
garet.  "I  always  wondered  what  lay  beyond 
these  woods,  but  have  never  come  so  far  before. 
Shall  we  cross  it,  Rita  ?  or  does  it  look  a  little 
damp,  do  you  think?" 

"It  may   be  damp,"  said  Rita  indifferently. 
"  I  care  not  for  damp,  tris  chtre.     Let  us  cross, 
by  all  means.    And  look  !  see  the  golden  flower ;  * 
what  can  it  be  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure !  "  said  Margaret, 
gazing  innocently  at  the  yellow  muslin  rose 
which  had  been  under  her  hands  only  the 
day  before.  « It  looks  —  I  don't  know  what  it 
looks  like,  Rita.  But  I  am  afraid  the  grass  is 
very  wet.  Don't  you  see  the  wet  shining 
through?" 

"  Pouf !  "  said  Rita.  «  Wait  thou  here,  faint 
heart,  while  I  bring  the  flower;  that,  at  least, 
I  must  do,  even  if  we  go  no  further." 

She  stepped  over  the  grass  so  lightly  and 
quickly  that  she  had  gone  some  steps  before  her 


THE    PEAT-BOG.  77 

feet  began  to  sink  in  the  black,  oozy  bog.  Mar 
garet  saw  the  water  bubbling  up  behind  her, 
and  cried  to  her  in  alarm  to  come  back  ;  and 
Rita,  finding  the  earth  plucking  at  her  feet, 
turned  willingly  toward  the  solid  ground;  but 
return  was  impossible.  She  tried  to  lift  her 
feet,  but  the  bog  held  them  fast,  and  with  the 
effort,  she  felt  herself  sinking,  slowly  but  surely. 

"  Ah,"  she  cried,  "  it  is  bad  ground  !  It  is  a. 
pit,  Marguerite  !  Do  not  move,  do  not  come 
near  me  !  Run  and  get  help  ! "  For  Margaret 
was  already  stepping  forward  with  outstretched 
hands. 

"  Stop  where  you  are ! "  cried  Rita  imperi 
ously.  "Do  you  not  see  that  if  you  come  in, 
we  are  both  lost  ?  I  tell  you  there  is  no  ground 
here,  no  bottom !  I  sink,  I  feel  it  sucking  me 
down,  down!  Ah,  Madre!  go,  Marguerite,  fly 
for  help ! " 

Poor  Margaret  turned  in  distraction.  Whither 
should  she  fly  ?  They  were  more  than  a  mile 
from  home.  How  could  she  leave  her  cousin  in 
this  dreadful  plight  ?  Before  help  could  come, 
she  might  be  lost  indeed,  drawn  bodily  under  by 
the  treacherous  ooze.  She  turned  away,  but 


78  THREE   MARGARETS. 

came  running  back  suddenly,  for  she  heard  a 
sound  coming  from  the  opposite  direction,  a 
cheerful  whistle. 

"Oh,  Rita!"  she  cried;  "help  is  near.  I 
hear  some  one  whistling,  a  boy  or  a  man.  Oh, 
help  !  help  !  Come  this  way,  please  ! " 

-The  whistle  changed  to  a  cry  of  surprise, 
uttered  in  a  familiar  voice.  The  next  minute, 
Peggy  came  running  through  the  wood,  her 
hands  and  face  red  with  strawberry  juice. 

Margaret  could  only  gasp,  and  point  to  Rita, 
for  her  heart  seemed  to  die  within  her  when  she 
saw  that  the  newcomer  was  only  a  girl  like  her 
self,  —  only  poor,  awkward  Peggy. 

They  were  no  better  off  than  before,  save 
that  now  one  could  go  for  help,  while  the  other 
could  stay  to  cheer  poor  Rita.  Rita  was  now 
deadly  white ;  she  had  ceased  to  call.  The 
black  ooze  had  crept  to  her  knees,  and  she  no 
longer  made  any  effort  to  extricate  herself. 
Margaret  was  turning  to  run  again,  but  Peggy 
stopped  her.  "Stand  still!"  she  said.  "I'll 
get  her  out." 

Ai,  poor,  awkward,  ill-dressed  Peggy,  your 
hour  has  come  now !  Not  for  nothing  were  you 


THE    PEAT-BOG.  79 

brought  up  on  a  prairie,  your  eyes  trained  to 
quickness,  your  arms  strong  as  steel,  your  wits 
ever  on^the  alert  where  there  is  danger !  Poor 
Peggy,  this  is  your  hour,  and  the  haughty  beauty 
and  the  gentle  student  must  own  you  their  su 
perior. 

Peggy  cast  a  keen  glance  around ;  she  was  look 
ing  for  something.  Spying  a  stout  stake  that 
had  been  broken  off  and  was  lying  on  the 
ground,  she  caught  it  up,  and  the  next  moment 
had  thrown  herself  flat  on  her  face.  Lying  flat, 
she  began  slowly  and  cautiously  to  wriggle  out 
across  the  surface  of  the  quaking  bog.  The 
black  water  seethed  and  bubbled  under  her ;  but 
her  weight,  evenly  distributed,  did  not  bear  on 
any  one  spot  heavily  enough  to  press  her  down. 
Slowly,  carefully,  she  worked  her  way  out,  while 
the  other  girls  held  their  breath  and  dared  not 
speak.  Once,  indeed,  Rita  moaned,  and  cried, 
"  No,  no,  one  is  enough  !  Go  back !  I  cannot  let 
you  come ! " 

But  Margaret  had  seen  that  in  Peggy's  eyes 
and  mien  which  kept  her  silent.  She  stood 
trembling,  with  clasped  hands,  praying  for  both. 
She  could  do  no  more. 


80  THREE   MARGARETS. 

"  Lie  down  now,  Rita ! "  Peggy  commanded. 
"  Lie  flat,  just  as  I  am  !  Stretch  out  your  arms, 

—  so  !     Now,  catch  hold  !  " 

Rita  obeyed  to  the  point.  It  was  terrible  to 
lie  down  in  that  awful  black  slough  that  was  to 
be  her  grave,  perhaps,  but  she  obeyed  without  a 
word.  Stretching  her  arms  as  far  as  they  would 
go,  she  touched  the  end  of  the  stake,  —  touched, 
grasped,  held  fast ;  and  now  Peggy,  still  hold 
ing  fast  to  her  end,  began  to  wriggle  back, 
slowly,  cautiously,  moving  by  inches. 

"  Kneel  down  on  the  edge,  Margaret ! "  she 
said ;  "  don't  come  over,  but  reach  out  and  give 
us  a  haul  in  when  you  can  touch.  It's  getting 
pretty  deep  here!" 

Margaret  knelt  and  reached  out  her  arms ; 
could  she  touch  them?  Peggy  was  sinking 
now,  but  she'  still  moved  backward,  dragging 
Rita  with  her ;  they  were  close  by,  —  she  had 
hold  of  Peggy's  skirt.  The  stout  gathers  held, 

—  which  was  a  miracle,  Peggy  said  afterward, — 
and  the  next  moment  all  three  girls  were  sitting 
on  the  safe,  dry  ground,  crying  and  holding  each 
other  tight. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    FAMILY    CHEST. 

LITTLE  was  said  on  the  homeward  walk. 
Rita  walked  between  her  two  cousins,  holding 
fast  a  hand  of  each.  She  seemed  hardly  con 
scious  of  their  presence,  however ;  she  sobbed 
occasionally,  dry,  tearless  sobs,  and  murmured 
Spanish  words  to  herself.  Margaret  caught  the 
word  "Madare!"  repeated  over  and  over,  and 
pressed  her  cousin's  hand,  and  spoke  soothing 
words;  but  Rita  did  not  heed  her.  Peggy 
walked  quickly,  head  in  air,  cheeks  glowing, 
and  eyes  shining  All  the  awkwardness,  the 
hanging  head  and  furtive  air,  was  gone,  and 
Margaret  looked  at  her  in  wonder  and  admira 
tion.  But  both  girls  were  a  piteous  sight  as 
regarded  their  clothes.  From  head  to  foot  they 
dripped  with  black  mud,  thick  and  slimy. 
Peggy's  dress  gave  no  hint  of  the  original  colour 
in  the  entire  front,  and  Rita's  was  little  better. 


82  THREE   MARGARETS. 

Their  very  faces  were  bedabbled  with  black,  and 
they  left  a  black  trail  behind  them  on  the  grass. 
In  this  guise  they  met  the  astonished  gaze  of 
John  Strong  as  he  passed  through  the  garden 
on  his  way  to  the  seed-house.  He  came  hurrying 
toward  them  with  anxious  looks. 

"  My  dear  children/'  he  cried,  "  what  has  hap 
pened  ? "  Then,  in  a  different  tone,  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  young  ladies !  I  was  startled  at  seeing 
you,  —  there  has  been  some  accident  ?  " 

But  Bita  was  herself  again  now  in  an  instant. 
Her  eyes  blazed  with  angry  pride. 

"  Keep  your  place,  John  Strong !  "  she  said 
haughtily.  "  When  we  address  you,  it  will  be 
time  for  you  to  speak  to  us."  She  swept  past 
him  into  the  house,  her  superb  bearing  present 
ing  a  singular  contrast  to  her  attire ;  and  Peggy 
followed  her,  already  beginning  to  giggle  and 
look  foolish  again.  But  Margaret  lingered,  dis 
tressed  and  mortified. 

"  Oh,  John,"  she  said,  "there  has  been  an  acci 
dent  !  You  will  understand,  —  Miss  Rita  got  into 
that  terrible  bog,  and  might  have  been  drowned 
there  before  my  eyes,  if  Miss  Peggy  had  not  come 
by,  and  drawn  her  out  so  cleverly."  And  she 


THE    FAMILY    CHEST.  83 

told  him  the  whole  story,  dwelling  warmly  upon 
Peggy's  courage  and  presence  of  mind,  and 
blaming  herself  for  not  having  perceived  the 
danger  in  time.  » 

"It  is  I  who  am  to  blame,- Miss  Margaret!" 
said  John  Strong.  "  Very,  very  much  to  blame. 
Every  one  about  here  knows  that  peat-bog,  and 
avoids  it ;  I  had  warned  Miss  Peggy,  but  did  not 
think  of  your  going  so  far  in  that  direction.  I 
am  very  much  to  blame." 

He  seemed  so  much  disturbed  that  Margaret 
tried  to  speak  more  lightly,  though  she  was  still 
pale  and  trembling;  but  the  gardener  kindly 
begged  her  to  go  in  and  rest,  and  she  was  glad 
enough  to  go. 

John  Strong  stood  looking  after  her  a  moment. 

"  I  ought  to  be  shot !  "  he  said  to  himself. 
"  And  that  is  the  lassie  for  me  !  Good  stuff  in 
both  the  others,  as  I  supposed,  but  this  is  the 
one  for  me."  And  shaking  his  head,  he  went 
slowly  on  his  way. 

Margaret  went  straight  to  Peggy's  room,  but 
found  it  empty,  and  passing  by  Rita's  found 
the  door  shut,  and  heard  voices  within.  She 
paused  a  moment,  wondering.  Should  she  go 


84  THREE   MARGARETS. 

in?  No ;  she  remembered  Mrs.  Cheriton's  words, 
"  It  may  be  that  you  are  not  to  do  it,  after  all," 
and  she  went  into  her  own  room  and  shut  the 
door. 

It  might  have -been  half  an  hour  after  that 
she  heard  a  whispering  in  the  hall  outside,  and 
then  a  knock  at  her  door.  She  ran  to  open  it, 
and  stood  amazed;  There  was  Peggy,  blushing 
and  smiling,  looking  as  pleased  as  a  little  child, 
arrayed  in  the  rose-coloured  tea-gown  whose  ex 
istence  she  had  endangered  on  the  night  of  her 
arrival ;  and  there  beside  her,  holding  her  hand, 
was  Rita,  in  pale  blue  and  swansdown,  —  Rita, 
also  smiling,  but  with  the  mockery  for  once  gone 
from  eyes  and  mouth,  and  with  traces  of  tears 
on  her  beautiful  face.  She  now  led  Peggy  for 
ward,  and  presented  her  formally  to  Margaret, 
with  a  sweeping  courtesy. 

"  Miss  Montfort,"  she  began,  "  this  is  my  sis- 
,ter.  I  desire  for  her  the  honour  and  privilege  of 
your  distinguished  acquaintance.  She  kisses 
your  hands  and  feet,  as  do  I  myself." 

Then  suddenly  she  threw  herself  upon  Mar 
garet's  neck,  still  holding  Peggy's  hand,  so  that 
all  three  were  wrapped  in  one  embrace. 


THE    FAMILY    CHEST.  85 

"  Marguerite,"  she  cried,  "  behold  this  child  ! 
I  have  been  a  brute  to  her,  you  know  it  well  — " 
and  Margaret  certainly  did.  "  A  brute,  a  devil 
fish,  what  you  will !  and  she — she  has  saved 
my  life  !  You  saw  it,  you  heard  it ;  another 
moment,  and  I  should  have  gone — "  she  shud 
dered.  "  I  cannot  speak  of  it.  But  now,  Mar 
guerite,  hear  me  swear !" 

"  Oh  my  !  "  ejaculated  Peggy,  in  some  alarm. 

"  Hear  me  swear ! "  repeated  Rita  passion 
ately;  "from  this  moment  Peggy  is  my  sister. 
You  are  not  jealous,  no  ?  You  are  also  my  own 
soul,  but  you  are  sufficient  to  yourself  ;  what  do 
you  need,  piece  of  Northern  perfection  that  you 
are  ?  Peggy  needs  me ;  I  take  her,  I  care  for 
her,  I  form  her !  so  shall  it  be !  "  And  once 
more  she  embraced  both  cousins  warmly. 

Margaret's  eyes  filled  with  happy  tears. 

"  Dear  Peggy  !  Dear  Rita !  "  was  all  she  could 
say  at  first,  as  she  returned  their  embraces. 
Then  she  made  them  come  in  and  sit  down, 
and  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  "  It  is  so 
good!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  so  good!  You  can't 
imagine,  girls,  how  I  have  longed  for  this !  It 
did  seem  so  dreadful  that  you  should  not  have 


86  THREE   MARGARETS. 

the  pleasure  of  each  other  —  but  we  wilLjiot 
speak  of  that  any  more !  No  !  and  we  will  bless 
the  black  bog  for  bringing  you  together." 

But  Rita  shuddered  again,  and  begged  that 
she  might  never  hear  of  the  bog  again. 

"Do  you  observe  Peggy's  hair?"  she  asked. 
"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

The  fair  hair  was  brought  smoothly  up  over 
the  well-shaped  head,  and  wound  in  a  pretty, 
fluffy  Psyche  knot.  The  effect  was  charming  in 
one  way,  but  — 

"  It  makes  her  look  too  grown-up,"  Margaret 
protested.  "It  is  very  pretty,  but  I  want  her 
to  be  a  little  girl  as  long  as  she  can.  You  don't 
want  to  be  a  young  lady  yet,  do  you,  Peggy  ?" 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Peggy.  "Indeed  I  don't! 
But  Rita  thought  —  " 

"  Rita  thought!"  cried  that  young  lady,  nod 
ding  her  head  sagely.  "  Rita  thought  wrong, 
as  usual,  and  Margaret  thought  right.  It  is  too 
old;  but  what  of  that?  We  will  try  another 
style.  Ten,  twenty  ways  of  dressing  hair  I 
know.  Often  and  often  Conchita  and  I  have 
spent  a  whole  day  dressing  each  other's  hair, 
trying  this  effect,  that  effect.  Ah,  the  superb 


THE    FAMILY    CHEST.  87 

hair  that  Conchita  has ;  it  sweeps  the  floor,  — 
and  soft  —  ah,  as  a  bat's  wool!  " 

A  few  hours  ago,  Peggy  would  have  sniffed 
scornfully  at  all  this ;  but  now  she  listened  with 
interest,  and  something  of  awe,  as  her  beautiful 
cousin  discoursed  of  braids  and  puffs,  and  told 
of  the  extraordinary  effect  that  might  sometimes 
be  produced  by  a  single  small  curl  set  at  the 
proper  curve  of  the  neck.  It  sounded  pretty 
frivolous,  to  be  sure,  but  then,  Rita  looked  so 
earnest  and  so  lovely,  and  it  was  so  new  and 
delightful  to  be  addressed  by  her  as  an  equal,  — 
and  a  beloved  equal  at  that;  Peggy's  little 
head  was  in  evident  danger  of  being  turned  by 
the  new  position  of  affairs. 

Margaret,  feeling  that  there  were  limits,  even 
to  the  subject  of  hairdressing,  presently  pro 
posed  a  visit  to  Aunt  Faith,  and  for  once 
neither  cousin  made  any  objection.  Peggy  was 
mortally  afraid  of  the  white  old  lady,  and  Rita 
said  frankly  that  she  did  not  like  old  people, 
and  saw  no  reason  why  she  should  put  herself 
out,  simply  because  her  uncle,  whom  she  had 
never  seen,  had  chosen  to  saddle  himself  with 
the  burden  of  a  centenarian.  But  to-day,  Rita 


THREE   MARGARETS. 


was  shaken  and  softened  out  of  all  her  way 
wardness,  and  she  readily  admitted  the  propri 
ety  of  telling  Mrs.  Cheriton  what  had  happened. 
Aunt  Faith  listened  with  deep  interest,  and 
was  as  shocked  and  distressed  as  heart  could 
desire.  The  peat-bog,  she  told  them,  did  not 
belong  to  their  uncle ;  he  had  in  vain  tried  to 
buy  the  land,  in  order  that  he  might  drain  or 
fence  it,  but  the  proprietor  refused  to  sell  it. 
There  was  a  terrible  story,  she  said,  of  a  man's 
being  lost  there,  many  years  ago;  it  was  a 
dreadful  place. 

Then,  seeing  Rita  shudder  again,  she  changed 
the  subject,  and  spoke  of  the  charming  contrast 
of  the  pale  blue  and  rose-colour,  in  the  two 

girls'  dresses.     "  The  pink  suits  you  well,  little 

Peggy,"  she  said.     "  I  have  not  seen  you  in  a 

delicate  colour  before." 

"  This  isn't  mine,"  said  honest  Peggy ;  "  it  is 

Rita's  —  "    but   Rita   laid   her   hand   over   her 

mouth. 

"It    is   hers!"    she    said;    "a    nothing!    a 

tea-gown    of   last    year!      One   is    ashamed  to 

offer  such  a  thing,  not  fit  to  scour  floors  in — " 
"Certainly  not!"  said  Mrs.  Cheriton,  laugh- 


THE    FAMILY    CHEST. 


89 


ing.  "  Ah,  Rita !  you  have  the  Spanish  ways,  I 
see.  I  have  heard  nothing  of  that  sort  since 
I  was  in  Spain  sixty  years  ago." 

"What,  you  have  been  in  Spain!"  cried 
Rita,  with  animation.  "  Ah,  I  did  not  know  ! 
Please  tell  us  about  it." 

"  Another  time.  You  would  like  to  hear,  I 
think,  about  the  winter  I  spent  in  Granada, 
close  by  the  Alhambra.  But  now  I  have  some 
thing  else  to  say.  Your  pretty  dresses  remind 
me  that  there  is  a  chest  of  old  gowns  here  that 
it  might  interest  you  to  look  over.  Some  of 
them  are  quite  old,  two  hundred  years  or  more." 

Then,  while  the  girls  uttered  cries  of  delight, 
she  called  Janet  and  bade  her  open  the  cedar 
chest  in  the  next  room. 

"  This  way,  my  dears !  "  and  she  led  the  way 
into  a  bedroom,  as  white  and  fresh  and  dainty 
as  the  sitting-room.  Janet  was  already  on  her 
knees  before  a  deep  chest,  quaintly  carved,  and 
clamped  with  brass.  Now,  at  her  mistress's  re 
quest,  she  began  to  lift  out  the  contents. 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!"  cried  the  three  girls,  posi 
tively  squeaking  with  rapture  and  wonderment. 
The  old  lady  looked  from  them  to  the  dresses 


90  THREE   MARGARETS. 

with  a  pleased  smile.  "  They  are  handsome  !  " 
she  said. 

And  they  were!  They  must  have  been 
stately  dames  indeed,  the  Montfort  ladies  who 
wore  these  splendid  clothes  !  Here  was  a  crim 
son  damask,  so  heavily  embroidered  in  silver 
that  it  stood  alone  when  Janet  set  it  up  on  the 
floor ;  here,  again,  a  velvet,  somewhat  rubbed 
by  long  lying  in  the  chest,  but  of  so  rich  and 
glowing  a  purple  that  only  a  queen  could  have 
found  it  becoming.  Here  were  satins  that 
gleamed  like  falling  water;  one,  of  the  faint, 
moonlight  tint  that  we  call  aqua-marine,  an 
other  with  a  rosy  glow  like  a  reflected  sunset. 
And  the  peach-coloured  silk !  and  the  blue  and 
silver  brocade  !  and  the  amber  velvet ! 

Before  the  bottom  of  the  chest  was  reached, 
the  girls  were  silent,  having  exhausted  their 
stock  of  words. 

At  last  Margaret  cried,  "Who  were  these 
people,  Aunt  Faith  ?  Were  they  princesses,  or 
runaway  Indian  begums,  or  what  ?  They  cer 
tainly  cannot  have  been  simple  gentlewomen  !j' 

Mrs.  Cheriton  laughed  her  soft,  rustling  laugh. 

"It  is  a  curious  old   Montfort  custom,"  she 


THE    FAMILY    CHEST.  91 

said;  "it  has  come  down  through  many  gen 
erations,  I  believe.  The  women  have  had  the 
habit  of  keeping  the  handsomest  gown  they  had, 
or  one  connected  with  some  special  great  event, 
and  laying  it  in  this  old  chest.  Some  of  them 
are  wedding-gowns,  —  those  two  satins,  for  ex 
ample,  and  that  white  brocade  with  the  tiny 
rosebuds, — that  was  your  Grandmother  Mont- 
fort's  wedding-gown,  my  dears,  and  she  looked 
like  a  rose  in  it ;  I  was  bridesmaid  at  her  wed 
ding.  But  others,  —  ah !  hand  me  the  blue  and 
silver  brocade,  Janet !  Yes,  here  is  an  inscrip 
tion  that  will,  I  think,  amuse  you,  my  children. 
This  was  my  own  mother's  contribution  to  the 
family  chest." 

She  beckoned  the  girls  to  look,  and  they  bent 
eagerly  forward.  Under  the  rich  lace  in  the 
neck  of  the  splendid  brocade,  a  piece  of  paper 
was  neatly  stitched,  and  on  the  paper  was  writ 
ten  :  "  This  Gown  was  worne  at  Madam  Wash 
ington's  Ball.  I  danced  with  Gen.  Washington, 
the  Court  Minuet,  and  he  praised  my  dancing. 
Afterwards  the  Gen.  spilled  Wine  uppon  the 
Front  Peece,  but  I  put  French  Chalks  to  it,  and 
now  the  Spotte  may  hardly  be  Seen." 


THREE   MARGARETS. 


"Oh,"  sighed  Margaret,  "how  enchanting! 
how  perfectly  delightful !  Are  they  all  marked 
Aunt  Faith?" 

"Not  all,  but  a  good  many  of  them.  See! 
Here  is  something  on  this  sea-green  cloak- 
notice  the  sleeves,  Rita:  they  are  something  in 
the  Spanish  style,  as  it  was  in  my  youth.  Let 
us  see  what  is  written  here,  for  I  forget." 

They  bent  over  the  yellow  writing;  in  this 
case  it  was  pinned  on  the  hanging  sleeve,  and 
read  as  follows:  "This  Cloak,  with  the  flowered 
satin  Gown,  was  worn  by  me,  Henrietta  Mont- 
fort,  the  last  time  I  went  to  a  worldly  Assem 
blage.     I  lay  them  away,  having  entered  upon 
a  Life  of  Retirement  and  Meditation  since  the 
Death  of  my  deere  Husband.    Mem.   TheCloake 
was  lined  with  Sabels,  which  I  have  removed 
lest  Moth  and  Rust  do  corrupt,  and  have  made' 
them  into  Muffs  for  the  Poor." 

"I  believe  she  became  a  great  saint,"  said 
Mrs.  Chenton,  «  and  a  very  severe  one.  I  have 
heard  that  in  the  coldest  winter  weather  she 
would  not  let  her  servants  build  fires  on  Sunday 
because  she  did  not  consider  it  a  necessary  work 
There  is  a  story  that  one  bitter  cold  Sunday 


THE    FAMILY    CHEST.  93 

some  one  came  to  call,  and  found  the  whole 
family  in  bed,  servants  and  all,  trying  to  keep 
warm.  I  know  they  never  had  any  warm 
victuals  on  that  day." 

"How  pleasant  to  live  now,"  said  Margaret, 
"  instead  of  then !  Aren't  you  glad,  girls  ?  " 

"  My  faith !  "  said  Rita,  "  I  would  have  made 
a  fire  with  the  house,  and  burned  her  in  it ;  then 
I  should  have  been  warm.  But  what  is  this, 
Aunt  Faith  ?  If  I  am  truly  to  call  you  so,  yes  ? 
What  horror  is  this  ?  Look  at  the  beautiful 
satin,  all  destroyed !  Cut !  —  it  is  cut  with  knives, 
Marguerite  !  Look  !  " 

Janet  held  up  a  white  satin  gown,  of  quaint 
and  graceful  fashion.  Sure  enough,  it  was  cut 
and  slashed  in  every  direction,  the  sleeves  hang 
ing  in  ribbons,  the  skirt  slit  and  gashed  down 
its  entire  length.  Mrs.  Cheriton  shook  her  head 
in  answer  to-  the  girls'  looks  of  amazement  and 
inquiry. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  saw  that,  Rita ! "  she  said. 
"It  recalls  a  sad  story,  which  might  better  be 
forgotten.  However  —  well,  that  gown  belonged 
to  my  poor  Aunt  Penelope.  She  was  a  beauti 
ful  girl,  but  headstrong,  and  she  married,  against 


94  THREE   MARGARETS. 

her  parents'  wishes,  a  handsome,  good-for-noth 
ing  man,  who  made  her  desperately  unhappy, 
and  finally  left  her.  She  lost  her  mind,  poor 
soul,  from  sorrow  and  suffering.  When  her 
father  brought  her  home  to  Fernley,  she  took 
this,  her  wedding-gown,  and  cut  it  up  in  this 
strange  fashion  that  you  see,  and '  laid  it  so  in 
the  chest ;  as  a  warning,  she  told  her  mother. 
She  died  very  soon  after  her  return ;  poor  Aunt 
Penelope ! " 

She  signed  to  Janet  to  lay  the  tattered  gown 
back ;  and  it  seemed  to  the  girls  as  if  the  poor 
lady  herself  were  being  laid  back  in  her  coffin 
to  rest  after  her  troubled  life. 

«  Does  —  does  she  walk  ?  "  asked  Peggy,  in  an 
awestruck  voice. 

"Walk?"  repeated  Mrs.  Cheriton.  "I  don't 
—  oh,  yes!  her  ghost,  you  mean,  Peggy?  No, 
my  dear.  I  fancy  she  was  too  tired  to  think  of 
anything  but  resting.  There  is  only  one  Mont- 
fort  ghost  that  I  ever  heard  of,  and  that  one  is 


not  a  woman's." 


"Oh,  tell  us!  Tell  us,  please!"  cried  all 
three  girls  eagerly.  "  A  real  ghost  ?  How  thrill 
ing!" 


THE    FAMILY    CHEST.  95 

"  I  did  not  say  it  was  a  real  ghost,  you  impet 
uous  children.  I  do  not  believe  in  ghosts  myself, 
and  I  never  saw  this  one.  But  people  used  to 
think  that  the  spirit  of  Hugo  Montfort  haunted 
one  of  the  rooms.  He  died  suddenly,  in  great 
trouble  about  some  family  papers  that  had  been 
lost,  and  the  family  tradition  is  that  he  comes 
back  from  time  to  time  to  hunt  once  more 
through  desks  and  drawers,  in  hope  of  finding 
them.  He  has  never  done  so,  I  believe;  but 
then,  he  has  never  been  here  since  I  came  to 
Fernley.  Your  Uncle  John  is  no  ghost-lover, 
any  more  than  I  am,  and  I  fear  poor  Hugo  may 
feel  the  lack  of  sympathy.  And  now,"  she 
added,  "this  is  positively  enough  of  old-time 
gossip.  I  do  not  know  when  I  have  talked  so 
much,  children ;  you  make  me  young  and  frivo 
lous  once  more." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Peggy,  who  had  listened  open- 
mouthed  to  the  last  tale ;  "  but  just  tell  us 
what  he  looks  like,  when  any  one  does  see  him. 
I  have  wanted  all  my  life  to  be  where  there  was 
a  ghost.  Is  he  —  is  he  in  white  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no !  Hugo  Montfort  is  no  hob 
goblin  ghost  in  a  white  sheet,  with  a  pumpkin 


96  THREE   MARGARETS. 

head !  He  was  a  very  elegant  gentleman  in  his 
time,  and  I  believe  his  favorite  wear  is  black 
velvet.  By  the  way,  his  portrait  is  in  the  long 
gallery  upstairs.  Have  you  been  there,  my 
dears?  There  are  some  curious  old  portraits. 
And  there  is  the  garret ;  ^ou  have  surely  visited 
the  garret  ? " 

But  the  girls  had  not,  they  confessed.  There 
had  been  so  much  to  do,  the  days  had  gone  so 
rapidly.  Margaret  alone  realised,  and  she  per 
haps  for  the  first  time,  how  little  they  had  really 
seen  of  the  house  itself.  There  was  so  much  to 
see  out  of  doors,  and  when  indoors  she  was 
always  drawn  irresistibly  to  the  library  and 
its  entrancing  folios  and  quartos.  Peggy  had, 
one  rainy  day,  proposed  to  "  see  if  there  wasn't 
a  garret  or  some  place  where  they  could  have 
some  fun."  But  Margaret,  as  she  now  remem 
bered  with  a  pang,  had  just  discovered  the 
"  Hakluyt  Chronicles,"  and  was  conscious  of 
nothing  in  the  world  save  the  volume  before 
her,  and  the  longing  wish  for  her  father  to 
enjoy  it  with  her. 

"  We  will  go  this  very  afternoon  !  "  she  cried, 
with  animation.  "  Is  it  unlocked  ?  May  we 


THE    FAMILY    CHEST.  97 

roam  about  wherever  we  like,  Aunt  Faith  ?  It 
sounds  like  Bluebeard  !  Are  there  no  doors  that 
we  may  not  open  ?  " 

"  None  among  those  that  you  will  see  there," 
said  Mrs.  Cheriton.  And  Margaret  fancied  that 
she  looked  grave  for  a  -moment.  "  You  will  find 
more  trunks  there,"  she  added  quickly,  "full  of 
old  trumpery/ less  valuable  than  these  dresses, 
and  which  you  may  like  to  amuse  yourselves 
with.  Here  are  the  keys  of  some  of  them  —  the 
wig  trunk,  the  military  trunk ;  yes,  I  think  you 
may  be  sure  of  an  afternoon's  amusement  if  you 
are  as  fond  of  dressing  up  as  I  was  at  your  age. 
Now  we  must  say  good-bye,  my  dear  children ; 
Janet  is  shaking  her  head  at  me,  and  it  is  true 
that  I  must  not  talk  too  long." 

She  kissed  them  all  affectionately,  and  they 
sped  away,  Margaret  only  lingering  to  look  back 
with  one  parting  glance  at  the  beautiful  old 
figure  in  its  white  chair. 

"  The  garret !  the  garret !  "  cried  Rita.  "  Hur 
rah  ! "  shouted  Peggy.  And  they  flew  up  the 
stairs  like  swallows. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    GARRET. 

i 

ON  the  wide  landing  of  the  second  story,  the 
girls  paused   to   draw  breath   and   look   about 
them.     The  long  gallery  ran  around  three  sides 
of    the    house,    with    the    stairs    forming    the 
fourth.     It  was  hung  with  pictures,  save  where 
two  or  three  doors  broke  the  wall-space.     Sin 
gular  pictures  they   were,  mostly  family   por 
traits,  it  was  evident.     Some  of  them  were  very 
good,  though   the  gems   of   the  collection,  the 
Copleys    and    Stuarts,    and    the    precious    Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  were   in    the    drawing-rooms 
below.      The  girls  ran  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  great  was  their  delight  to  recognise  here 
and  there  one  of  the  very  gowns  they  had  been 
admiring  in  the  Family  Chest. 

"Here   is   Henrietta    Montfort,   in   the   sea- 
green   cloak  !  "  cried  Margaret.      «  Look,  girls, 


THE "GARRET. 


what  a  haughty,  disagreeable  face;  I  don't 
wonder  her  family  trembled  before  her." 

"  And  here  —  oh,  here  is  Hugo !  "  cried 
Peggy;  "black  velvet,  she  said.  Look  here, 
Margaret !  " 

The  portrait  was  that  of  a  man  in  middle 
life,  handsomely  dressed  in  black  velvet,  with 
hat  and  ruff.  His  face  was  sad,  but  the  bright, 
dark  eyes  looked  intelligently  at  the  girls,  and 
the  whole  face  had  a  familiar  look. 

"He  has  a  look  of  Papa,"  said  Margaret 
softly;  "it  is  a  weaker  face,  but  there  is  a 
strong  resemblance." 

"/think  he  looks  like  John  Strong,"  said 
Peggy  decidedly.  » 

"  My  dear  Peggy,"  said  Rita,  "  I  must  pray 
that  you  will  take  less  notice  of  our  uncle's 
gardener.  What  does  it  matter  to  you  how  he 
looks  ?  I  ask  you.  Now  that  you  are  my  sis 
ter  I  must  teach  you  to  forget  this  habit  of 
speaking  to  servants  as  if  they  were  your 
equals.  I  overheard  you  the  other  day  con 
versing  —  absolutely  conversing  —  with  this 
man.  Dear  child,  it  is  wholly  unsuitable.  I 
tell  you,  and  I  know." 


lOjO  THREE   MARGARETS. 

Margaret,  who  loved  peace  almost  too  well, 
was  tempted  to  let  this  pass,  but  her  conscience 
shouted  at  her,  and  she  spoke. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  you  regard  John  Strong 
as  an  ignorant  or  inferior  person,  Rita,"  she 
said  gently,  knowing  that  she  seemed  prig 
gish,  but  encouraged  by  Peggy's  confused  and 
abashed  look. 

"  I  think  that  if  you  were  to  talk  with  him 
a  little  yourself,  you  would  feel  differently.  He 
is  a  very  superior  man,  and  Uncle  John  has 
the  highest  opinion  of  him  ;  Aunt  Faith  has 
told  me  so." 

Rita  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Really,  tres 
chere"  she  said,  "  this  is  a  case  in  which  it  is 
not  necessary,  believe  me,  to  .go  back  a  hundred 
years.  We  hear  about  the  manners  of  the  vieille 
ecole ;  my  faith,  the  school  may  become  too 
old  !  " 

"  Rita !  "  cried  Margaret  indignantly.  "  How 
can  you  ?  " 

Rita  only  shrugged  her  shoulders ;  her  eyes 
shone  with  the  very  spirit  of  wilfulness. 

"  Ma  cousine"  she  said,  "  it  is  a  thousand 
pities  that  you  cannot  come  to  Havana  with  me. 


THE   GARRET.  101 

The  quality  of  being  always  virtuous  —  it  is  ab 
horrent,  tr£s  chere  ;  correct  it,  if  possible.  And 
the  garret  cries  out  for  us ! "  she  said,  turning 
away,  with  the  straight  line  between  her  eyes 
that  meant  mischief,  as  Margaret  had  already 
learned.  She  turned  to  Peggy,  who  stood  in 
some  alarm,  not  knowing  whether  the  old 
friend  or  the  new  should  claim  her  allegiance. 

"Allons!"  she  cried.  "The  door,  Peggy! 
wrhich  door  will  take  us  to  this  place  of  joy? 
this  one  ?  Hein!  it  is  locked;  it  will  not  open." 

"That  must  be  Uncle  John's  room,"  said 
Peggy.  "It  is  always  locked.  I  —  I  have 
tried  it  two  or  three  times."  And  she  stole 
a  guilty  glance,  which  made  the  two  older  girls 
laugh  outright. 

"  Fatima ! "  said  Margaret,  trying  to  speak 
lightly,  though  her  heart  still  burned  from 
Rita's  insolent  words.  "  Peggy,  it  is  a  danger 
ous  thing  to  try  doors  in  a  house  like  Fernley." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  it  is  only  a  linen  closet," 
said  Peggy.  "I  shouldn't  have  cared,  only  it 
is  provoking  not  to  be  able  to  see  what  is  in 
there.  But  this  is  the  garret  door,  this  way. 
I  went  up  part  way  once,  but  it  seemed  so  big 


102  THREE   MARGARETS. 

and  spooky,  I  didn't  want  to  go  all  the  way 
alone." 

It  was  a  big  place,  indeed,  this  garret !  The 
girls  looked  about  them  in  wonder,  as  soon  as 
their  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  dim  light 
that  came  from  the  small  gable  windows.  The 
corners  were  black  and  deep,  —  miles  deep,  poor 
Peggy  thought,  as  she  peered  into  them.  Old 
furniture  lay  about,  broken  chairs  and  gouty- 
legged  tables.  In  one  corner  a  huge  chest  of 
drawers  loomed,  with  round,  hunched  shoulders, 
as  if  it  were  leaning  forward  to  watch  them;  in 
another  —  oh,  mercy  !  what  was  that  ? 

The  three  caught  sight  at  once  of  an  object 
so  terrifying  that  Rita  and  Peggy  both  shrieked 
aloud,  and  turned  to  flee;  but  Margaret  held 
them  back. 

"  Girls, "  she  said,  and  her  voice  trembled  a 
little,  whether  from  laughter  or  fear ;  "  wait ! 
It  —  it  can't  be  what  it  looks  like,  you  know  ! 
It  must  — "  She  advanced  cautiously  a  few 
steps,  and  began  to  laugh.  It  certainly  had 
looked  at  first  like  the  figure  of  a  man  hang 
ing  from  the  rafters ;  it  proved  to  be  only  an 
innocent  suit  of  clothes,  dangling  its  legs  in  a 


THE   GARRET.  103 

helpless  way,  and  holding  out  its  arms  stiffly, 
as  if  in  salutation. 

Recovering  from  their  fear,  the  girls  ad 
vanced  again,  Peggy  giggling  nervously.  "  I 
thought  it  was  him ! "  she  whispered. 

" He,  not  him"  was  on  Margaret's  lips,  but 
she  kept  the  words  back.  She  could  not  always 
be  a  schoolmistress ;  and  then  she  scorned  her 
self  for  moral  cowardice. 

"  Thought  it  was  who,  Peggy  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Hugo  Montfort  ?  " 

"  Ye  -  yes  !  "  said  Peggy. 

"  But  he  did  not  hang  himself,  child !  He 
wants  to  find  his  papers,  that  is  all.  Ah,  here 
are  the  trunks  ;  now  for  the  wigs,  girls  !  " 

The  wig  trunk  proved  a  niost  delightful 
repository.  The  wigs  were  in  neat  boxes ; 
many  of  them  were  of  horsehair,  but  a  few 
were  of  human  hair,  frizzed  and  tortured  out 
of  all  softness  or  beauty.  Dainty  Margaret  did 
not  incline  to  put  them  on,  but  Peggy  was  soon 
glorious  in  a  huge  white  structure,  with  a 
wreath  of  roses  on  the  top,  that  made  her  look 
twice  her  height.  "  Ain't  I  fine  ? "  she  cried. 
"  Here,  Margaret,  here  is  one  for  you." 


104  THREE   MARGARETS. 

Margaret  twirled  the  wig  around,  and  exam 
ined  it  curiously.  "  What  they  all  must  have 
looked  like!"  she  said.  "This  is  a  judge's 
wig,  I  think." 

"  Then  it  can  fit  none  but  you,  Senorita  Per- 
fecta ! "  cried  Rita ;  but  the  sting  was  gone 
from  her  tone,  and  she  had  wholly  forgotten 
her  moment  of  spite.  "  Here !  here  is  mine. 
Behold  me,  a  gallant  of  the  court !  I  advance, 
I  bow  —  but  my  cloak,  where  is  my  cloak? 
Quick,  Marguerite,  the  key  of  the  other  chest !  " 

The  other  chest,  a  great  black  one,  studded 
with  brass  nails,  contained,  as  Mrs.  Cheriton  had 
said,  any  amount  of  material  for  the  delightful 
pastime  of  dressing  up.  The  gauzes  were 
crumpled,  to  be  sure,  the  gold  lace  tarnished, 
and  the  satins  and  brocades  more  or  less  spotted 
and  decayed ;  but  what  of  that  ?  The  splen 
dours  of  the  Family  Chest  were  too  solemn  ..to 
sport  with ;  here  was  material  for  hours  and 
days  of  joy.  Rita  was  soon  arrayed  in  a  scarlet 
military  coat,  a  habit  skirt  of  dark  velvet,  and 
a  plumed  hat  which  perched  like  a  bird  on  top 
of  her  flowing  wig.  Peggy  was  put  into  a 
charming  Watteau  costume  of  flowered  silk,  in 


THE   GARRET.  107 

which  she  looked  so  pretty  that  Rita  declared  it 
was  a  shame  for  her  ever  to  wear  anything 
else ;  while  Margaret  found  a  long,  gold-spotted 
gauze  that  took  her  fancy  mightily.  Thus  at 
tired,  the  three  girls  frisked  and  danced  about 
the  huge,  dim  old  garret,  astonishing  the  spi 
ders,  and  sending  the  mice  scuttling  into  their 
holes  in  terror.  The  seventeen  years  that 
sometimes  weighed  heavily  on  Margaret's  slen 
der  shoulders,  and  that  sat  like  a  flame  of  pride 
on  Rita's  white  forehead,  seemed  utterly  forgot 
ten  ;  these  were  three  merry  children  that  ran 
to  and  fro,  waking  the  echoes  to  mirth.  Rita 
proposed  a  dance,  and  cried  out  in  horror  when 
Peggy  confessed  that  she  could  not  dance  at  all, 
and  Margaret  that  she  had  had  few  lessons  and 
no  experience. 

"  Poor  victims  !  "  cried  the  Cuban.  "  Slaves 
of  Northern  prejudice!  I  will  teach  you,  my 
poors  !  Not  to  dance,  not  to  understand  the 
management  of  a  fan — how  are  you  to  go 
through  life,  without  equipment,  I  ask  you?" 

She  held  out  her  arms  with  a  gesture  so 
tragic  that  Margaret  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  Rita,  forgive  me  !  "  she  said.     "  I  was  try- 


108  THREE   MAKGARETS. 

ing  to  fancy  my  poor  dear  father  giving  me  a 
lesson  in  the  management  of  a  fan.  He  was 
really  my  chief  teacher,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  and  who  was  there  for  me  to  dance 
with  ? "  cried  Peggy,  holding  out  her  gay 
flounces.  "  Brother  Jim  would  be  rather  like 
a  grizzly  bear,  I  think,  and  none  of  the  others 
would.  Jean  and  I  used  to  dance  with  each 
other,  but  it  was  just  jumping  up  and  down,  for 
we  didn't  know  anything  else." 

Kita  sighed,  and  felt  the  weight  of  empire  on 
her  shoulders.  "  You  shall  learn,"  she  said 
again.  "  I  will  teach  you.  But  not  here,  it 
is  too  dim  and  dusty.  The  courtesy,  however, 
we  can  try.  Mesdames  !  Raise  the  skirt,  thus, 
the  left  foot  in  advance  ;  the  left,  Peggy,  child 
of  despair !  now  bend  the  right  knee,  and  slowly, 
slowly,  sink  thus,  with  grace  and  dignity.  Oh, 
pity  on  me,  what  have  you  done  now  ?  " 

Poor  Peggy  had  done  her  best,  but  when  it 
came  to  sinking  slowly  and  gracefully,  it  was 
too  much  for  her.  She  stepped  on  her  train, 
tripped,  lost  her  balance,  and  fell  heavily  back 
against  the  wall.  She  clutched  the  wooden 
panel  behind  her,  and  felt  it  move  under  her 
fingers. 


THE   GARRET.  109 

"  Oh,  mercy  !  "  she  cried,  "  it's  moving !  The 
wall  is  moving !  Margaret,  catch  hold  of  my 
hand ! " 

Margaret  caught  her  hand,  and  helped  her  to 
her  feet.  When  she  moved  away  from  the  wall, 
it  was  seen  that  the  wooden  panel  had  indeed 
moved.  It  had  slid  open  a  few  inches,  and 
blackness  looked  through  at  them.  Peggy 
clutched  her  cousins  and  trembled.  Where  was 
now  the  courage,  the  coolness,  which  had  made 
her'  the  heroine  of  the  morning's  adventure  ? 
Gone  !  Anything  in  the  ordinary  course  of  na 
ture,  bogs  and  such  matters,  Peggy  was  mistress 
of,  but  black  spaces,  with  possible  white  figures 
lurking  in  them,  were  out  of  her  province. 

"  Margaret,"  she  whispered,  "  do  you  see  ?  It 
is  open  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  see  !  "  said  Margaret.  "  What  a  de 
lightfully  mysterious  thing,  girls  !  A  secret 
chamber,  perhaps,  or  a  staircase !  It  must  be  a 
staircase,  for  it  is  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall 
behind  the  chimney.  Do  run  and  get  a  lamp, 
Peggy,  like  a  good  girl,  and  we  will  see.  How 
damp  and  earthy  it  smells !  " 

Peggy  flew,  only  too  glad  to  get  away  from 


110 


THREE   MARGARETS. 


the  black,  yawning  hole.  She  was  back  in 
three  minutes  with  the  lamp,  and  the  three 
cousins  peered  into  the  open  space,  Margaret 
holding  the  lamp  high  above  her  head,  so  that 
the  light  might  penetrate  as  far  as  possible. 

It  was  indeed  a  staircase;  a  narrow,  wind 
ing  way,  wide  enough  for  one  person,  but  no 
more.  It  plunged  down  like  a  black  pit,  and 
its  end  could  not  be  seen. 

"  But  this  is  superb  !  "  cried  Margaret.  "  Shall 
we  explore  it,  girls  ?  I  don't  suppose  there  can 
be  any  objection,  do  you  ?  It  is  probably  never 
used." 

"  By  all  means,  let  us  explore ! "  said  Rita. 
"  But  do  you  know  what  I  am  thinking,  Mar 
guerite  ?  " 

"Something  romantic  and  mysterious,  I  am 
sure  !  "  said  Margaret,  smiling. 

"  Something  practical  and  businesslike,  rather, 
tres  Mre.  I  am  thinking  that  for  a  conceal 
ment,  if  a  concealment  were  necessary,  this  is 
the  finest  house  in  the  world.  Come  on ! " 

Peggy  hung  back,  her  round  cheeks  pale 
with  dread  ;  but  she  could  not  bear  to  be  left 
behind;  and  as  Margaret  and  Rita  plunged 


THE   GARRET.  Ill 

down  the  narrow  stair,  she  followed,  with  beat 
ing  heart.  She  had  longed  all  her  breezy  little 
life  for  mystery,  adventure,  something  wonder 
ful  to  happen  to  her,  with  which  she  could  im 
press  and  awe  the  younger  children ;  now  it  had 
really  come,  and  her  heart  beat  with  mingled 
terror  and  excitement. 

Down — down  —  down.  The  lamplight  shone 
on  the  rough  walls  of  discoloured  plaster,  the 
old  steps  creaked  beneath  their  tread ;  that 
was  all.  Now  they  came  to  a  tiny  landing, 
and  something  gleamed  before  them,  —  the  brass 
handle  of  a  door.  Margaret  hesitated,  fearing 
that  they  might  be  trenching  on  forbidden 
ground  ;  but  Rita  opened  the  door  quickly,  and 
Peggy  pressed  down  behind  her. 

They  saw  a  room,  like  the  other  bedrooms  in 
the  house,  large  and  airy.  It  was  evidently 
ready  for  use,  the  bed  neatly  made,  everything 
in  spotless  order.  Brushes  and  shaving-tools 
lay  on  the  dressing-bureau.  The  table  was 
covered  with  books. 

"  Uncle  John's  room !  "  whispered  Margaret. 
"  It  must  be,  of  course ;  and  this  is  where  the 
locked  door  is  on  the  second  story.  Come 


112  THREE   MARGARETS. 

along,  girls;    we  ought  not  to  go  prying  into 
people's  rooms ! " 

"My  faith,  I  cannot  see  that!"  retorted 
Rita.  "  If  there  were  anything  of  interest  in 
the  room,  —  but  nothing  —  a  plain  room,  and 
nothing  more  !  A  pretty  thing  to  end  a  secret 
staircase;  he  should  have  shame  for  it.  But 
come,  as  you  say ;  we  have  yet  a  way.  to  go 
down." 

They  closed  the  door  carefully,  and  once 
more  began  the  descent.  Down  —  down  — down. 
But  this  second  half  of  the  way  was  different. 
The  staircase  was  wider,  and  the  walls  were 
cased  in  wood.  Moreover,  it  showed  marks  of 
usage.  The  steps  above  were  covered  with  thick 
dust,  evidently  long  undisturbed  ;  but  these  were 
clean  and  shining.  Decidedly,  the  mystery  was 
deepening. 

"  Suppose  we  find  it  is  just  a  back  way  to 
the  servants'  rooms !  "  whispered  practical  Mar 
garet. 

"Suppose  feedle-dee-dee ! "  said  Rita;  and 
her  funny  little  foreign  accent  on  the  word 
made  Peggy  choke  and  splutter  behind  her. 

Now   they   were    evidently   approaching   the 


THE   GARRET. 


113 


ground  floor,  for  sounds  were  audible  below 
them :  a  footstep,  and  then  the  clink  of  metal, 
as  if  some  one  were  moving  fire-irons. 

"  Elizabeth,  probably !  "  whispered  Margaret. 
"What  shall  we  say  to  her?" 

"Let's  yell  and  rush  out  and  scare  her!" 
proposed  Peggy. 

«  Hush  !  "  said  Rita.  "  Oh,  hush !  we  know 
not  who  it  is.  Look  !  a  gleam  of  light,  —  the 
crack  of  a  door  !  quick,  the  lamp  !  "  and  with  a 
swift,  silent  breath  she  blew  out  the  lamp,  and 
they  were  in  total  darkness. 

They  now  saw  plainly  the  light  that  shone 
through  the  crack  of  a  door,  a  few  steps  below 
them.  The  sounds  in  the  room  beneath  had 
ceased.  All  was  still  for  a  moment ;  then  sud 
denly  Peggy  made  a  false  step  in  the  dark,  and 
stumbled  ;  she  uttered  a  smothered  shriek,  and 
then  began  to  giggle. 

"  Animal !  "  muttered  Rita  through  her  teeth. 
"  Can  you  not  be  silent  ?  " 

Peggy  was  now  in  front,  and  seeing  that  light 
came  also  through  the  keyhole,  she  stooped  and 
looked  through  it.  The  next  instant  she  ut 
tered  a  dreadful  shriek,  and  staggered  back  into 


114  THREE   MARGARETS. 

Margaret's    arms.      "  The    man !  "  she    cried  ; 
"  the  man  in  black  velvet !  " 

A  chair  was  hastily  pushed  back  in  the  room 
below  ;  steps  crossed  the  floor,  and  as  Margaret 
flung  open  the  door,  another  door  at  the  further 
end  of  the  room  was  seen  to  close  softly. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CUBA   LIBRE. 

"Bui,  Marguerite,  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
know  !  " 

"  But,  Rita,  my  dear,  how  can  you  know  ?  " 

"  Look  at  me  ;  listen  to  me  !  Have  you  your 
senses  ?  " 

"  Most  of  them,  I  hope." 

"  Very  well,  then,  attend !  When  stupid, 
stupid  Peggy  —  I  love  her,  observe ;  she  is  my 
sister,  but  we  must  admit  that  she  is  stupid,  — 
truth,  Marguerite,  is  the  jewel  of  my  soul  — 
when  she  stumbled  against  the  door,  when  she 
screamed,  we  heard  sounds,  did  we  not  ?  " 

"  We  did  !  "  Margaret  admitted. 

"  Sounds,  —  and  what  sounds  ?  Not  the  broom 
of  a  servant,  not  the  rustle  of  a  dress,  —  no,  we 
hear  the  step  of  a  man  !  We  enter,  and  a  door 
closes  at  the  further  end  of  the  room ;  click,  a 
lock  snaps  !  I  rush  to  the  window  ;  a  figure 


116  THREE    MARGARETS. 

disappears  around  the  corner  of  the  house ;  I 
cannot  see  what  it  is,  but  I  would  swear  it  was 
no  woman.  I  return,  —  we  look  about  us  at 
this  room,  which  never  have  we  seen  before.  A 
gentleman's  room,  as  an  infant  could  perceive. 
A  private-  library,  study,  what  you  will,  luxu 
rious,  enchanting.  Books  over  which  you  sob 
with  emotion,  —  or  would  sob,  if  your  tempera 
ment  permitted  you  expression ;  pictures  that  fill 
my  soul  with  enchantment;  a  writing-table, 
and  on  it  papers  —  heaps  and  mounds  of  pa 
pers  !  Am  I  right  ?  do  I  exaggerate  ?  Alps, 
Pyrenees  of  papers  !  You  saw  them  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  see  anything  higher  than  Mt. 
Washington,"  said  Margaret  soberly.  "  There 
were  a  good  many,  I  confess." 

"  They  burst  from  drawers,"  pursued  Rita, 
enjoying  herself  immensely;  "  they  toppled  like 
snow-drifts  ;  they  strewed  the  floor  to  a  depth 
of—" 

"  Oh,  Rita,  Rita  !  do  rein  your  Pegasus  in,  or 
he  will  fly  away  altogether.  There  certainly 
were  a  great  many  papers,  and  they  confirmed 
our  poor  little  Peggy  in  her  belief  that  the  man 
she  had  seen  was  Hugo  Montfort,  making  his 


CUBA   LIBRE.  117 

ghostly  search  for  the  papers  he  lost.  Whereas 
you  think  — " 

"  Think !  when  I  tell  you  that  I  know  !  " 

"  You  think,"  Margaret  went  on  calmly, 
"  that  it  was  John  Strong,  the  gardener.  Well, 
and  what  if  it  was  ?  "  ^ 

"  What  if  it  was  ?  Marguerite,  you  are  im 
possible  ;  you  have  the  intelligence  of  a  babe 
new  born.  What !  we  find  this  man  in  his 
master's  room,  spying  upon  his  private  things, 
romaging  —  what  is  that  word  ?  —  romaging  his 
papers,  most  likely  making  himself  possessed  of 
what  he  will,  and  you  say,  what  of  this  ?  Ca- 
ramba,  I  will  tell  you  what  of  this  it  would  be 
in  Cuba !  String  him  up  to  the  wall  and  give 
him  quick  fifty  lashes ;  that  would  be  of  it !" 

"  Long  Island  is  a  good  way  from  Cuba ! " 
said  Margaret.  "  I  don't  think  we  will  try  any 
thing  of  that  sort  here,  Rita.  And  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it,  my  dear,  we  have  been  here 
a  few  weeks,  and  John  Strong  was  here  before 
we  were  born;  Aunt  Faith  told  me  so.  Don't 
you  think  he  may  perhaps  know  what  he  is 
about  rather  better  than  we  do  ?  " 

"  Know  what  he  is  about !  "     Rita  protested, 


118  THREE   MARGARETS. 

with  a  shower  of  nods,  that  he  knew  very  well 
what  he  was  about.  The  question  was,  did 
their  uncle  know  ?  And  the  black  velvet  coat, 
what  had  Margaret  to  say  to  that  ?  she  de 
manded.  It  was  evident  that  this  good  man, 
this  worthy  servant,  was  in  the  habit  of  wearing 
his  master's  clothes  during  his  absence.  Did 
gardeners  habitually  appear  in  black  velvet? 
Ha !  tell  her  that ! 

Margaret  did  not  know  that  they  did,  but  it 
was  perfectly  possible  that  Mr.  Montfort  might 
have  given  some  of  his  old  clothes,  a  cast-off 
smoking-jacket,  for  example,  to  his  gardener 
and  confidential  servant.  There  would  be  noth 
ing  remarkable  in  that,  surely.  Besides,  were 
they  absolutely  certain  that  the  mysterious  indi 
vidual  was  dressed  in  black  velvet  ?  Poor,  dear 
Peggy  was  in  such  a  state  of  excitement,  she 
might  well  have  fancied  —  and  so  on,  and  so 
on.  The  two  cousins  went  over  the  ground  again 
and  again,  but  could  come  to  no  decision. 

"  Say  what  you  will,  trds  chere !  "  said  Rita, 
finally;  "glorify  your  gardener,  give  him  the 
family  wardrobe,  the  family  papers;  I  keep 
watch  on  him,  that  is  all !  Let  Master  Strong 


CUBA  LIBRE.  119 

beware  !  Not  for  nothing  was  I  brought  up  on 
a  plantation.  Have  I  not  known  overseers,  to 
say  nothing  of  hosts  of  servants,  white,  black, 
yellow  ?  Your  books,  chdre  Marguerite,  do  they 
teach  you  the  knowledge  of  persons  ?  Let  him 
beware  !  he  knows  not  a  Cuban  !  "  and  she  nod 
ded,  and  bent  her  brows  so  tragically  that  Mar 
garet  could  hardly  keep  her  countenance. 

"  Have  you  ever  acted,  Rita?"  she  asked,  fol 
lowing  the  train  of  her  thoughts.  "  I  am  sure 
you  must  do  it  so  well." 

"  Mi  alma  !  "  cried  Rita, "  it  was  my  joy !  Con- 
chita  and  I  —  ahif  what  plays  we  have  acted 
in  the  myrtle-bower  in  the  garden !  Will  you  see 
me  act  ?  You  shall." 

John  Strong  and  his  iniquities  were  forgotten 
in  a  moment.  Bidding  Margaret  call  Peggy,  and 
make  themselves  into  an  audience  in  the  lower 
hall,  Rita  whirled  away  to  her  own  room,  where 
they  could  hear  her  singing  to  herself,  and  pull 
ing  open  drawers  with  reckless  ardour.  The  two 
other  girls  ensconced  themselves  in  a  window- 
seat  of  the  hall  and  waited. 

"  Do  you  know  what  she  is  going  to  do  ? " 
asked  Peggy. 


120  THREE   MARGARETS. 

% 

Margaret  shook  her  head.  "  Something  pretty 
and  graceful,  no  doubt.  She  is  a  born  actress, 
you  know." 

16 1  never  saw  an  actress,"  said  Peggy.  "  She 
—  she  is  awfully  fascinating,  Margaret,  isn't 
she?" 

Margaret  assented  warmly.  There  was  no 
tinge  of  jealousy  in  her  composition,  or  she 
might  have  felt  a  slight  pang  at  the  tone  of  ad 
miring  awe  in  which  Peggy  now  spoke  of  her 
Cuban  cousin.  Things  were  changed  indeed 
since  the  night  of  their  arrival. 

"  It  isn't  only  that  she  is  so  awfully  pretty," 
Peggy  went  on,  "  but  she  moves  so  —  and  her 
voice  is  so  soft,  and  —  oh,  Margaret,  do  you 
suppose  I  can  ever  be  the  least  like  her,  just  the 
least  bit  in  the  world  ?  " 

She  looked  anxiously  at  Margaret,  who  gazed 
back  affectionately  at  her,  at  the  round,  rosy 
childish  face,  the  little  tilted  nose,  the.  fluffy,  fair 
hair.  It  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  to  stroke  and  pat  Peggy  as  if  she  were  a 
kitten,  but  no  one  would  think  of  patting  Rita. 

"  Dear,"  said  Margaret  softly,  "  dear  Peggy ! 
I  like  you  oetter  as  you  are.  Of  course  Eita  is 


CUBA  LIBRE.  121 

very  beautiful,  and  neither  you  nor  I  could  ever 
look  in  the  least  like  her,  Peggy.  But  —  it  is  a 
great  deal  better  to  look  like  our  own  selves, 
isn't  it,  and  learn  to  appear  at  our  best  in  a  way 
that  suits  us  ?  That  is  what  I  think.  Now  that 
you  have  learned  to  do  your  hair  so  nicely,  and 
to  keep  your  dress  neat  —  " 

"You  taught  me  that,"  said  honest  Peggy; 
"  you.  taught  me  all  that,  Margaret.  I  was  a 
perfect  pig  when  I  came  here ;  you  know  I 
was." 

"  Don't  call  my  cousin  names,  miss !  I  cannot 
permit  it.  But  if  I  have  taught  you  anything, 
Peggy,  it  is  Rita  who  has  given  you  the  little 
graces  that  you  have  been  picking  up.  I  never 
could  have  taught  you  to  bow,  —  and  really,  you 
are  quite  superb  since  the  last  lesson.  Then, 
these  pretty  dresses  —  " 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  I  ought  to  take  them?" 
broke  in  Peggy.  "  Margaret,  do  you  think  so  ? 
She  brought  them  into  my  room,  you  know,  and 
flung  them  down  in  a  heap,  and  said  they  were 
only  fit  for  dust-cloths  —  you  know  the  way  she 
talks,  dear  thing.  The  lovely  brown  crepon, 
she  said  it  was  the  most  hideous  thing  she  had 


122  THREE   MARGARETS. 

ever  seen,  and  that  it  was  the  deed  of  an  assas 
sin  to  offer  it  to  me.  And  when  I  said  I  couldn't 
take  so  many,  she  snatched  up  the  scissors,  and 
was  going  to  cut  them  all  up  —  she  really  was, 
Margaret.  What  could  I  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  dear  child,  except  take  them,  I 
really  think.  It  was  a  real  pleasure  to  Rita  to 
give  them  to  you,  I  am  sure,  and  she  could  not 
possibly  wear  a  quarter  of  all  the  gowns  she 
brought  here.  But  see,  here  comes  our  bird  of 
paradise  herself.  Now  we  shall  see  something 
lovely ! " 

Rita  came  down  the  stairs,  singing  a  little 
Spanish  song.  Her  dress  of  black  gauze  fluttered 
in  wide  breezy  folds,  a  gauze  scarf  floated  from 
her  shoulders  ;  she  was  indeed  a  vision  of  beauty, 
and  the  two  cousins  gazed  at  her  with  delight. 
Advancing  into  the  middle  of  the  hall,  she 
swept  a  splendid  courtesy,  and  suddenly  un 
furled  a  huge  scarlet  fan.  With  this,  she  pro 
ceeded  to  go  through  a  series  of  astonishing 
performances.  She  danced  with  it,  she  sang 
with  it.  She  closed  it,  and  it  was  a  dagger, 
and  she  swooped  upon  an  invisible  enemy,  and 
stabbed  him  to  the  heart;  she  flung  it  open, 


CUBA  LIBKE.  123 

and  it  became  the  messenger  of  love,  over  which 
her  black  eyes  gleamed  and  glowed  in  irresistible 
coquetry.  All  the  time  she  kept  up  a  dramatic 
chant,  sometimes  sinking  almost  to  a  whisper, 
again  rising  to  a  shriek  of  joy  or  passion.  Sud 
denly  she  stopped. 

"  All  this  is  play ! "  she  said,  turning  to  her 
rapt  audience. 

"  Now  you  shall  see  the  real  thing :  you  shall 
see  Cuba  libre.  But  for  this  I  must  have  an 
other  person ;  it  is  impossible  to  do  it  alone. 
Margaret,  —  no!  Peggy  can  better  do  this! 
Peggy,  come,  and  you  shall  be  Spain,  the 
tyrant." 

Peggy  looked  as  if  she  would  much  rather  be 
aspiring  Cuba,  but  she  came  forward  obediently, 
and  was  bidden  to  put  herself  in  an  attitude 
of  insolent  defiance.  Peggy  scowled  and  doub 
led  up  her  fists,  thinking  of  a  picture  of  a  prize 
fighter  that  she  had  once  seen. 

"Ahi!"  cried  Rita,  springing  upon  her. 
"  Not  thus !  you  have  the  air  of  a  cross  child. 
Thus,  do  you  see  ?  Fold  the  arms  upon  the 
chest,  abase  the  head,  bring  the  eyebrows  down 
till  you  have  to  look  through  them  !  So !  that 


124  THREE   MARGARETS. 

is  better !  Now  gnaw  your  under  lip,  and  draw 
in  your  breath  with  a  hiss,  thus!  "  and  Rita  her 
self  uttered  a  hiss  so  malignant  that  poor  Peggy 
started  back  in  affright.  "  But  be  still !  "  cried 
Rita,  "  you  are  now  perfect.  You  are  an  object 
—  is  she  not,  Marguerite  ?  —  to'  turn  cold  the 
blood.  "  Margaret  did  not  commit  herself,  being 
wholly  occupied  in  keeping  back  the  smiles  that 
Peggy's  aspect  called  forth.  She  certainly  was 
an  object,  poor  dear  child,  but  Rita  was  so  ab 
sorbed  in  her  play  that  she  saw  nothing  absurd 
even  in  a  tyrant  scowling  through  flaxen  eye 
brows  with  a  pair  of  helpless,  frightened  blue 
eyes.  She  now  drew  back,  knelt,  flung  up  her 
arms,  and  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven.  Her  lips 
moved  ;  she  was  praying  for  the  success  of  her 
cause.  Rising,  she  came  forward,  and  with  noble 
earnestness  demanded  her  freedom.  The  tyrant 
was  bidden  to  look  about  on  the  ruin  and  deso 
lation  that  he  had  wrought ;  he  was  implored  by 
all  that  was  holy,  all  that  was  just  and  noble,  to 
withdraw  from  the  land  where  he  had  long  ceased 
to  have  any  real  right  of  ownership.  Peggy,  in 
obedience  to  whispered  orders,  shook  her  head 
with  stubborn  violence,  and  stamped  her  foot. 


"  CUBA    LIBRE. 


CUBA   LIBRE.  127 

Cuba  then,  drawing  herself  to  her  full  height, 
threw  down  her  gage  of  defiance  (a  tiny  pearl- 
covered  glove)  and  declared  war  to  extermination. 
The  banner  of  freedom  (the  fan)  was  unfurled 
and  waved  on  high,  the  national  song  was 
chanted,  and  the  war  began.  Spain,  the  tyrant, 
now  had  a  hard  time  of  it.  She  was  pounced 
upon  from  one  side,  then  from  another ;  she  was 
surrounded,  hustled  this  way  and  that ;  the  fan 
was  fluttered  wide  in  her  face,  poked  sharply  be 
tween  her  ribs.  A  single  straightforward  blow 
from  her  strong  young  arm  would  have  laid  the 
slender  Cuba  at  her  feet,  but  she  could  strike  no 
blow.  She  was  only  to  hiss,  and  clutch  the  air 
in  impotent  fury,  and  when  she  did  this,  Mar 
garet  had  such  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  coughing 
that  it  almost  produced  an  armistice. 

Now  Spain  was  told  that  she  was  growing 
weak,  a  decrepit,  bleeding  old  woman.  Her 
fate  was  upon  her  ;  let  her  die ! 

Obeying  the  imperious  gesture,  Peggy  sank 
on  her  knees,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  hear 
ing  that  "the  old  serpent  died  bravely."  The 
fan  did  more  and  more  dreadful  execution,  and 
now  she  lay  gasping,  dying,  on  the  floor.  Stand- 


128  THREE   MARGARETS. 

ing  above  her  was  a  triumphant  young  goddess, 
waving  the  flag  of  Cuba  libre,  and  declaring, 
with  her  foot  on  the  neck  of  the  prostrate  ty 
rant,  that  despotism  was  dead,  and  that  Freedom 
was  descending  from  heaven,  robed  in  the  Cuban 
colours,  and  surrounded  by  a  choir  of  angels,  all 
singing  the  national  anthem.  And  here  Rita  act 
ually  pulled  from  her  bosom  a  small  flag  show 
ing  the  Cuban  colours,  and  waved  it,  crying  that 
the  blood-red  banner  of  war  (the  fan)  was  now 
furled  forever,  and  that  Cuba  and  the  United 
States,  now  twin  sisters,  would  proceed  to  rule 
the  world  after  the  most  approved  methods. 
This  ended  the  scene,  and  the  two  actors  stood 
before  Margaret,  one  very  red  and  sheepish,  the 
other  glowing  like  flame  with  pride  and  enthu 
siasm,  awaiting  her  plaudits.  Margaret  clapped 
and  shouted  as  loud  as  she  could,  and  expressed 
her  admiration  warmly  enough ;  but  Rita  shook 
her  head  and  sighed. 

"  Ah,  for  an  audience  !  "  she  cried.  "  To 
pour  out  one's  heart,  to  live  the  life  of  one's 
country,  and  have  but  one  to  see  it,  —  it  is  sad, 
it  is  tragic.  Do  I  exaggerate,  Marguerite?  — 
it  is  death-dealing !  "  Then  she  praised  Peggy, 


CUBA  LIBRE.  129 

and  told  her  that  she  had  made  a  magnificent 
tyrant,  and  had  died  as  game  as  possible. 
"Ah!"  she  said.  "What  it  would  be  if  you 
could  only  do  something  real  for  Cuba !  I 
would  shed  my  blood,  would  pour  out  its  ulti 
mate  drops  (Rita's  idioms  were  apt  to  become 
foreign  when  she  was  excited),  but  if  you  also 
could  do  something,  my  cousins,  what  glory, 
what  joy  for  you ;  and  it  may  be  possible. 
No,  hush !  not  a  word !  At  present,  I  breathe 
not  a  whisper,  I  am  the  grave.  But  there  may 
come  a  day,  an  hour,  when  I  shall  call  to  you 
with  the  voice  of  a  trumpet;  and  you,  —  you 
will  awaken,  halves  of  my  heart;  you  will 
spring  to  my  side,  you  will  —  Marguerite,  you 
are  laughing !  At  what,  I  ask  you  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  dear,"  said  Margaret. 
"  I  was  only  thinking  that  a  trumpet  might 
really  be  needed,  since  a  bell  is  not  loud 
enough.  The  dinner-bell  rang  five  minutes 
ago,  and  Elizabeth  has  come  to  see  what  we 
are  about." 

But  at  sight  of  Elizabeth,  standing  demurely 
in  the  doorway,  Cuba  libre  vanished,  and  there 
remained  only  a  very  pretty  young  lady  in  the 


130  THKEE   MARGARETS. 

sulks,  who  had  to  be  coaxed  for  five  minutes 
more  before  she  would  come  to  her  dinner. 

"Am  I  seventeen,  or  thirty-seven?"  thought 
Margaret,  as  she  finally  led  the  way  to  the 
dining-room. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DAY    BY    DAY.  , 

"Oh!    what  a  mystery 
The  study  is  of  history  I  " 

FOR  some  time  things  continued  to  go 
smoothly  and  pleasantly  at  Fernley.  The  days 
slipped  away,  with  nothing  special  to  mark  any 
one,  but  all  bright  with  flowers  and  gay  with 
laughter.  The  three  girls  were  excellent  friends, 
and  grew  to  understand  each  other  better  and 
better.  The  morning  belonged  rather  to  Mar 
garet  and  Peggy;  Rita  was  always  late,  and 
often  preferred  to  have  her  breakfast  brought 
to  her  room,  a  practice  of  which  the  other 
girls  disapproved  highly.  They  were  always 
out  in  the  garden  by  half  past  eight,  with 
breakfast  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  the  day 
before  them.  The  stocking-basket  generally 
came  with  them,  and  waited  patiently  in  a 
corner  of  the  green  summer-house  while  they 
took  their  "  constitutional,"  which  often  con 
sisted  of  a  run  through  the  waving  fields,  or 


132  THREE   MARGARETS. 

a  walk  along  the  top  of  the  broad  stone  wall 
that  ran  around  the  garden  ;  or  again,  a  tree- 
top  excursion,  as  they  called  it,  in  the  great 
swing  under  the  chestnut-trees.  Then,  while 
they  mended  their  stockings,  Margaret  would 
give  Peggy  a  "  talk-lesson,"  the  only  kind  that 
she  was  willing  to  receive,  on  English  history, 
with  an  occasional  digression  to  the  Trojan 
war,  or  the  Norse  mythology,  as  the  case 
might  be.  Peggy  detested  history,  and  knew 
next  to  nothing  of  it,  and  this  was  a  grievous 
thing  to  Margaret. 

"  First  William  the  Norman, 

Then  William  his  son  ; 
Henry,  Stephen  and  Henry, 
Then  Richard  and  John," 

had  been  one  of  her  own  nursery  rhymes,  and 
she  could  riot  understand  any  one's  not  thrilling 
responsive  when  the  great  names  were  spoken 
that  filled  her  with  awe  and  joy,  or  with  burn 
ing  resentment. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  she  would  cry,  when  Peggy 
yawned  at  Canute,  and  said  he  was  an  old  stu 
pid,  "  my  dear,  think  of  the  place  he  holds ! 
think  of  the  things  he  did !  " 


DAY    BY    DAY.  133 

"  Well,  he's  dead !  "  Peggy  would  reply ;  "  I 
don't  see  what  good  it  does  to  bother  about 
him  now.  Who  cares  what  he  did,  all  that 
time  ago  ?  " 

"  But,"  Margaret  explained  patiently,  "  if  he 
had  not  done  the  things,  Peggy,  don't  you  see, 
everything  would  have  been  different.  We 
must  know,  mustn't  we,  how  it  all  came  about 
that  our  life  is  what  it  is  now  ?  We  must  see 
what  we  came  from,  and  who  the  men  were  that 
made  the  changes,  and  brought  us  on  and  up." 

"  I  don't  see  why  !  "  said  Peggy  ;  "  I  don't  see 
what  difference  it  makes  to  me  that  Alfred 
played  the  harp.  I  don't  want  to  play  the  harp, 
and  I  never  saw  any  one  who  did.  It  is  rather 
fun  about  the  cakes,  but  he  was  awfully  stupid 
to  let  them  burn,  seems  to  me." 

Not  a  thrill  could  Margaret  awaken  by  any 
recital  of  the  sorrows  and  sufferings  of  the  Boy 
Kings,  or  even  of  her  favourite  Prince  Arthur. 
When  her  voice  broke  in  the  recital  of  his  pite 
ous  tale,  Peggy  would  look  up  at  her  coolly  and 
say,  "  How  horrid  of  them  !  But  he  would  have 
been  dead  by  this  time  anyway,  Margaret ;  why 
do  you  care  so  much  ?  " 


134 


THREE   MARGARETS. 


Still  Margaret  persevered,  never  losing  hope, 
simply  because  she  could  not  believe  that  the 
subject  itself  could  fail  to  interest  any  one  in  his 
senses.  It  was  her  own  fault  a  good  deal,  she 
tried  to  think ;  she  did  not  tell  the  story  right, 
or  her  voice  was  too  monotonous,  —  Papa  was 
always  telling  her  to  put  more  colour  into  her 
reading,  — or  something.  The  history  itself 
could  not  be  at  fault. 

"  And,  Peggy  dear ;  don't  think  I  want  to 
be  lecturing  you  all  the  time,  but  —  these  are 
things  that  one  has  to  know  something  about, 
or  one  will  appear  uneducated,  and  you  don't 
want  to  do  that." 

"I  don't  care.  I  don't  see  the  use  of  this 
kind  of  education,  Margaret,  and  that  is  just  the 
truth.  Ma  never  had  any  of  what  you  call  edu 
cation,— she  was  a  farmer's  daughter,  you 

know,  and  had  always  lived  on  the  prairie, 

and  she  has  always  got  on  well  enough.     Hugh 
talks  just  like  you  do  —  " 

"  Please,  dear,  as  you  do,  not  Wee'9 
"  Well,  as  you  do,  then.     He  talks  William 
the  Conqueror  and  all  those  old  fuddy-duddies 
by  the  yard,  but  he  can't  make  me  see  the  use 


DAY    BY    DAY.  135 

of  them,  and  you  can't.  Now  if  you  would  give 
me  some  mathematics  ;  that  is  what  I  want.  If 
you  would  give  me  some  solid  geometry,  Mar 
garet  !  " 

But  here  poor  Margaret  hung  her  head  and 
blushed,  and  confessed  that  she  had  no  solid 
geometry  to  give.  Her  geometry  had  been 
fluid,  or  rather,  vapour ous,  and  had  floated 
away,  un thought  of  and  unregretted. 

"  I  am  sorry  and  ashamed,"  she  said.  "  Of 
course  I  ought  to  be  able  to  teach  it,  and  if  I  go 
into  a  school,  of  course  I  shall  have  to  study 
again  and  make  it  up,  so  that  I  can.  But  it 
never  can  be  possible  that  triangles  should  be  as 
interesting  as  human  beings,  Peggy." 

"  A  great  deal  more  interesting,"  Peggy  main 
tained,  "  when  the  human  beings  are  dead  and 
buried  hundreds  of  years." 

"  One  word  more,  and  I  have  done,"  said 
poor  Margaret.  "  You  used  an  expression, 
dear,  —  old  fuddy-duddies,  was  it  ?  I  never 
heard  it  before.  Do  you  think  it  is  an  elegant 
expression,  Peggy  dear  ?  " 

"  It's  as  good  as  I  am  girl !  "  said  Peggy ; 
and  Margaret  shut  her  eyes,  and  felt  despair 


136  THREE   MARGARETS. 

in  her  heart.  But  soon  she  felt  a  warm  kiss 
on  her  forehead,  and  Peggy  was  promising  to 
be  good,  and  to  try  harder,  and  even  to  do 
her  best  to  learn  the  difference  between  the 
two  Harolds,  —  Hardrada  and  Godwinsson. 

And  if  she  would  promise  to  do  that,  might 
she  just  climb  up  now  and  see  what  that  nest 
was,  out  on  the  fork  there? 

Perhaps  Rita  would  come  down  soon,  with 
her  guitar  or  her  embroidery-frame ;  and  they 
would  sing  and  chatter  till  the  early  dinner. 
Rita's  songs  were  all  of  love  and  war,  boleros 
and  bull-fights.  She  sang  them  with  flashing 
ardour,  and  the  other  girls  heard  with  breath 
less  delight,  watching  the  play  of  colour  and 
feeling,  that  made  her  face  a  living  transcript 
of  what  she  sang.  But  when  she  was  tired, 
she  would  hand  the  guitar  to  Margaret,  and 
beg  her  to  sing  "  something  cool,  peaceful,  sea- 
green,  like  yourself,  Marguerite  !  " 

"  Am  I  sea-green  ? "  asked  Margaret. 

"  Ah  !  cherub  !  you  understand  me  !  My  blood 
is  in  a  fever  with  these  songs  of  Cuba.  I 
want  coolness,  icy  caves,  pine-trees  in  the 
wind ! " 


DAY    BY    DAY.  137 

So  Margaret  would  take  the  guitar,  and  sing 
in  her  calm,  smooth  contralto  the  songs  her 
father  used  to  love:  songs  of  the  North,  that 
had  indeed  the  sound  of  the  sea  and  the  wind 
in  them. 

"It  was  all  for  our  rightful  king 

That  we  left  fair  Scotland's  strand. 
It  was  all  for  our  rightful  king, 
We  ever  saw  Irish  land, 

My  dear, 
We  ever  saw  Irish  land!" 

The  plaintive  melody  rose  and  fell  like  the 
waves  on  the  shore ;  and  Rita  would  curl  her 
self  like  a  panther  in  the  sun,  and  murmur  with 
pleasure,  and  call  for  more.  Then,  perhaps, 
Margaret  would  sing  that  lovely  ballad  of 
Hogg's,  which  begins, 

"Far  down  by  yon  hills  of  the  heather  sae  green, 
And  down  by  the  corrie  that  sings  to  the  sea, 
The  bonnie  young  Flora  sat  sighing  her  lane, 
The  dew  on  her  plaid  and  the  tear  in  her  e'e. 

«  She  looked  on  a  boat  with  the  breezes  that  swung 

Afar  on  the  wave,  like  a  bird  on  the  main, 
And  aye  as  it  lessened,  she  sighed  and  she  sung, 
<Fareweel  to  the  lad  I  shall  ne'er  see  again! ' ' 


138  THREE   MARGARETS. 

But  Kita  had  no  patience  with  Flora  McDon 
ald. 

"Why  did  she  not  go  with  him?"  she 
asked,  when  Margaret,  after  the  song  was 
over,  told  the  brave  story  of  Prince  Charlie's 
escape  after  Culloden,  and  of  how  the  noble 
girl,  at  the  risk  of  her  own  life,  led  the  prince, 
disguised  as  her  waiting-woman,  through  many 
weary  ways,  till  they  reached  the  seashore 
where  the  vessel  was  waiting  to  take  him  to 
France. 

"  He  could  not  speak  !  "  said  Margaret.  "  He 
just  took  her  hand,  and  stood  looking  at  her ; 
but  she  could  hardly  see  him  for  her  tears. 
Then  he  took  off  his  cap,  and  stooped  down 
and  kissed  her  twice  on  the  forehead;  and  so 
he  went.  But  after  he  was  in  the  boat,  he 
turned  again,  and  said  to  her : 

" '  After  all  that  has  happened,  I  still  hope, 
madam,  we  shall  meet  in  St.  James's  yet ! ' 
But  of  course  they  never  did." 

"But  why  did  she  not  go  with  him?"  de 
manded  Rita.  "  She  had  spirit,  it  appears. 
Why  did  she  let  him  go  without  her  ? " 

Margaret  gazed  at  her  wide-eyed. 


DAY    BY    DAY.  139 

"He  was  going  into  exile,"  she  said.  "She 
had  done  all  she  could,  she  had  saved  his  life ; 
there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done." 

"  But  —  that  she  should  leave  him  !  Did  she 
not  love  him  ?  was  he  faithless  ?  " 

Margaret  blushed,  and  drew  herself  up  uncon 
sciously.  "You  do  not  understand,  Rita,"  she 
said  gravely.  "  This  was  her  prince,  the  son  of 
her  sovereign  ;  she  was  a  simple  Scottish  gentle 
woman.  When  he  was  flying  for  his  life,  she 
was  able  to  befriend  him,  and  to  save  his  life  at 
peril  of  her  own ;  but  when  that  was  over,  there 
was  no  more  need  of  her,  and  she  went  back 
to  her  home.  What  should  she  have  done  in 
France,  at  the  king's  court  ?  " 

"Even  if  so,"  muttered  Rita,  with  the  well- 
known  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  "  I  would  have 
gone,  if  it  had  been  I.  He  should  not  have 
thrown  me  off  like  that." 

Margaret  raised  her  eyes,  full  of  angry  light, 
and  opened  her  lips  to  speak  ;  but  instead  kept 
silence  for  a  moment.  Then,  "  You  do  not  un 
derstand,"  she  said  again,  but  gently ;  "  my 
mother  was  a  Scotchwoman,  so  I  feel  differ 
ently,  of  course.  It  is  no  matter,  but  I  will  tell 


140  THREE   MARGARETS. 

you  this  about  Miss  McDonald  :  that  when  she 
died,  years  after,  an  old  woman  of  seventy,  she 
was  buried  in  the  sheet  that  had  covered  Prince 
Charles  Stuart,  that  night  after  Culloden." 

"  My !  "  said  Peggy,  "  it  must  have  been  aw 
fully  yellow ! " 

After  dinner  it  was  Rita's  custom  to  take  a 
siesta.  She  declared  that  she  required  more 
sleep  than  most  people,  and  that  without  eleven 
hours'  repose  she  should  perish.  So  while  she 
slept,  Margaret  and  Peggy  arranged  flowers,  or 
Peggy  would  write  home,  with  many  sighs  of 
weariness  and  distress,  while  Margaret,  sitting 
near  her,  snatched  a  half-hour  for  some  enchant 
ing  book.  It  sometimes  seemed  to  her  more 
than  she  could  bear,  to  be  among  so  many  fine 
books,  and  to  have  almost  no  time  to  read.  At 
home,  several  hours  were  spent  in  reading,  as  a 
matter  of  course ;  often  and  often,  the  long, 
happy  evening  would  pass  without  a  word  ex 
changed  between  her  father  and  herself.  Only, 
when  either  looked  up  from  the  book,  there  was 
always  the  meeting  glance  of  love  and  sympa 
thy,  which  made  the  printed  page  shine  golden 
when  the  eyes  returned  to  it.  Here,  reading 


DAY    BY    DAY. 


141 


was  considered  a  singular  waste  of  time.  Rita 
read  herself  to  sleep  with  a  novel ,  but  Peggy 
was  entirely  frank  in  her  confession  that  she 
should  not  care  if  she  never  saw  a  book  again. 
Even  the  home  letters  were  a  grievous  task  to 
her,  for  she  never  could  think  of  anything  to 
say.  Margaret,  deep  in  the  precious  pages  of 
Froissart,  it  might  be,  would  be  roused  by  a 
portentous  sigh,  and  looking  up,  would  find 
Peggy  champing  the  penhandle,  and  gazing  at 
her  with  lack-lustre  eyes. 

"What's    the    matter    now,   Peg    of    Lima- 
vaddy  ?  " 

"  I  can't  —  think  —  of  a  single  thing  to  say." 
"  Child !  I  thought  you  had  so  much  to  tell 
them  this  time.  Think  of  that  lovely  drive  we 
took  yesterday;  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
tell  about  that.  Don't  you  remember  the  sunset 
from  the  top  of  the  long  hill,  and  how  we  made 
believe  the  clouds  were  our  fairy  castles,  and 
each  said  what  she  would  do  when  sjie  got 
there  ?  Rita  was  going  to  organise  a  Sunset 
Dance,  with  ten  thousand  fairies  in  crimson  and 
gold,  and  you  were  going  to  be  met  by  a  hun 
dred  thoroughbred  horses,  all  white  as  snow, 


142  THREE   MARGARETS. 

and  were  going  to  drive  them  abreast  in  a 
golden  chariot;  don't  you  remember  all  that? 
Tell  them  about  the  drive  !  " 

"I  have  told  them/'  said  Peggy  gloomily. 
"  I  couldn't  put  in  all  that,  Margaret ;  it  would 
take  all  day,  and  besides,  Ma  would  think  I  was 
crazy." 

"  Do  you  mind  my  seeing  what  you  wrote  ?  — 
oh,  Peggy  !  " 

For  Peggy  had  written  this :  "  We  had  an 
elagant  ride  yesterday." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Peggy.  « Isn't 
it  spelled  right?" 

"  Oh,  that  isn't  it ! "  said  Margaret.  "  At  least, 
that  is  the  smallest  part.  '  Elegant '  has  two 
e's,  not  two  a's.  But,  — Peggy  dear,  you  surely 
would  not  speak  of  a  drive  as  elegant !  " 

"Why  not?  I  said  ride,  not  drive,  but  I 
don't  see  any  difference.  It  was  elegant;  you 
said  so  yourself.  I  don't  understand  what  you 
mean,  Margaret."  And  Peggy  looked  injured, 
and  began  to  hunch  her  shoulders  and  put  out 
her  under  lip ;  but  for  once  Margaret,  wounded 
in  a  tender  part,  took  no  heed  of  the  signs  of 
coming  trouble. 


PEGGY    WRITES    HOME. 


DAY    BY    DAY. 


145 


"  /  say  so  ?  Never !  "  she  cried  indignantly. 
"I  hope  I  — that  is,  I  — I  don't  think  the 
word  can  be  used  in  that  way,  Peggy  ;  I  do  not, 
indeed.  You  speak  of  an  elegant  dress,  or  an 
elegant  woman,  but  not  of  an  elegant  drive  or 
an  elegant  sunset.  The  word  implies  something 
refined,  something  —  " 

«  Oh,  bother !  "  said  Peggy  rudely.  "  I  didn't 
come  here  to  school,  Margaret  Montfort ! " 

"  I  sometimes  wonder  if  you  ever  went  any 
where  to  school !  "  said  Margaret ;  and  she  took 
her  book  and  went  away  without  another  word, 
her  heart  beating  high  with  anger  and  impa 
tience. 

Such  affairs  were  short-lived,  however.  Mar 
garet  had  too  much  sense  and  good  feeling, 
Peggy  too  much  affection,  to  let  them  last. 
The  kiss  and  the  kind  word  were  not  long  in 
following,  and  it  was  to  be  noticed  that  Rita 
was  never  allowed  to  find  out  that  her  two 
Northern  cousins  ever  disagreed  by  so  much  as  a 
word.  There  was  some  unspoken  bond  that  bade 
them  both  make  common  cause  before  the  foreign 
cousin  whom  both  loved  and  admired.  So  when 
Rita  made  her  appearance  beautifully  dressed  for 


146 


THREE   MARGAKETS. 


the  afternoon  drive  or  walk  (for  they  could  not 
have  the  good  white  horse  every  day,  —  a  fact 
which  made  the  senorita  chafe  and  rage  against 
John  Strong  more  than  ever),  she  always 
found  smiling  faces  to  welcome  her,  and  the 
three  would  go  off  together  in  high  spirits,  to 
explore  some  new  and  lovely  part  of  the  country. 

Peggy  was  always  the  driver.  On  their  first 
drive  John  Strong  had  gone  with  them,  to  the 
intense  disgust  of  Rita,  and  the  indignation  of 
Peggy?  who,  though  she  was  very  fond  of  the 
grave  factotum,  resented  the  doubt  he  implied 
of  her  skill.  It  was  a  silent  drive,  Margaret 
alone  responding  to  the  remarks  of  their  con 
ductor,  as  he  pointed  out  this  or  that  beautiful 
view.  He  never  went  with  them  again,  but 
having  first  tested  Peggy's  powers  by  a  tite-ci- 
ttte  drive  with  her,  cheerfully  resigned  the  reins, 
and  used  to  watch  their  departure  with  calm 
approval. 

"  The  little  one  makes  much  the  best  figure 
on  the  box  !  "  John  Strong  would  say  to  himself. 
"  If  life  were  all  driving,  now  —  but — 

"  Weel  I  ken  my  ain  lassie ; 
Kind  love  is  in  her  e'e  I " 


CHAPTER  X. 

LOOKING   BACKWARD. 

BUT  in  the  twilight  came  Margaret's  hour  of 
comfort.  Then  Peggy  had  her  dancing-lesson 
from  Rita,  and  while  the  two  were  whirling  and 
stumping  about  the  hall,  she  would  steal  away 
through  the  little  door  and  down  the  three  steps 
to  the  white  rooms,  where  peace  and  quiet, 
gentle  words  and  kind  affection  were  always 
awaiting  her.  Aunt  Faith  always  understood 
the  little  troubles,  and  had  the  right  word  to  say, 
of  sympathy  or  counsel.  The  two  had  grown 
very  near  to  each  other. 

"  How  is  it,"  Margaret  asked  one  evening, 
"  I  seem  so  much  nearer  your  age,  Aunt  Faith, 
than  the  girls'  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  really  belong 
to  your  generation,  and  got  left  behind  by  acci 
dent?" 

Aunt  Faith  laughed.  "  My  dear,  you  ought 
to  have  had  half  a  dozen  brothers  and  sisters  !  " 


148  THEEE   MARGARETS. 

she  said.  "  An  only  child  grows  up  too  fast, 
especially  where,  as  in  your  case,  the  companion 
ship  with  father  or  mother  is  close  and  intimate. 
No  doubt  your  dear  father  did  his  best  to  grow 
down  to  your  age,  when  you  were  little  ;  but  he 
did  not  succeed,  I  fear,  so  you  had  to  grow  up 
to  his.  Was  not  that  the  way  ?  " 

Margaret  nodded  thoughtfully.  "  I  remember 
his  playing  horse  with  me  !  "  she  said.  "  Poor 
dear  Papa !  I  asked  him  to  play,  and  he  said  in 
his  deep,  slow  way,  '  Surely  !  surely  !  the  child 
must  have  play.  Play  is  necessary  for  develop 
ment.'  And  then  he  sat  and  looked  at  me,  with 
his  Greek  book  in  his  hand,  as  if  I  were  a  word 
that  he  could  not  find  the  meaning  of.  Oh  !  I 
remember  it  so  well,  though  I  must  have  been  a 
little  tot.  Then  he  got  up  and  said,  '  I  will  be 
a  horse,  Margaret !  Consider  me  a  horse  ! '  and 
he  gave  me  the  tassels  of  his  dressing-gown,  and 
began  to  amble  about  the  room  slowly,  among 
the  piles  of  books.  Oh,  dear  !  I  can  see  him 
now,  dear  Papa !  He  made  a  very  slow  horse, 
Aunt  Faith,  and  I  felt,  in  a  baby  way,  that  there 
was  something  awful  about  it,  and  that  he  was 
not  meant  to  play.  I  think  I  must  have  dropped 


LOOKING   BACKWARD. 


149 


the  tassels  pretty  soon,  for  lie  came  to  a  great 
book  lying  open  on  a  chair,  and  forgot  every 
thing  else,  and  stood  there  for  an  hour  reading 
it.  I  never  asked  him  to  play  again,  but  we 
used  to  laugh  over  it  when  we  were  big  —  I 
mean  when  I  was  big,  and  had  grown  up  to  him 
a  little  bit." 

Mrs.  Cheriton  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's 
head,  and  smoothed  her  hair  tenderly. 

"  You  must  have  been  lonely  sometimes, 
dear  ? "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  never,  I  think.  You  see,  I  learned 
so  many  things  that  I  could  play  by  myself,  and 
it  never  troubled  Papa  to  have  me  in  the  room 
where  he  was  writing ;  I  think  he  rather  liked  it. 
I  had  the  waste-paper  basket;  that  was  one  of 
my  chief  delights.  I  might  do  what  I  wanted 
with  the  papers,  if  I  only  put  them  back.  So  I 
carpeted  the  room  with  them,  and  I  laid  out 
streets  and  squares,  and  had  the  pamphlets  for 
walls  and  houses.  Or  I  was  a  queen,  with  a 
great  correspondence,  and  all  the  letters  were 
brought  to  me  by  pages  in  green  and  gold,  and 
when  I  read  them  (this  was  before  I  could  really 
read,  of  course),  they  were  all  from  my  baby  sis- 


150  THREE   MARGARETS. 

• 

ter,  and  they  told  of  all  the  lovely  things  she 
was  seeing,  and  the  wonderful  countries  she  and 
Mamma  were  travelling  in.  Aunt  Faith,  I  never 
see  a  waste-paper  basket  now,  without  feeling 
as  if  there  must  be  a  letter  for  me  in  it." 

"  Was  there  really  a  baby  sister,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes  !  she  died  with  Mamma,  only  a 
few  days  after  her  birth,  —  little  Penelope !  It 
seems  such  a  great  name  for  a  tiny  baby,  doesn't 
it,  Aunt  Faith  ?  But  it  is  a  family  name,  Papa 
told  me." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  many  of  the  Montforts  have 
been  named  Penelope.  You  remember  the  poor 
Aunt  Penelope  I  told  you  about,  who  made  the 
unhappy  marriage ;  and  there  were  many 
others." 

"  Oh,  that  reminds  me !  "  said  Margaret. 
"  Aunt  Faith,  you  promised  to  tell  me  some  day 
about  Aunt  Phoebe.  Don't  you  remember  ?  We 
were  speaking  of  these  white  rooms,  and  you 
said  it  was  a  fancy  of  Uncle  John's  to  have 
them  so,  and  you  thought  he  remembered  his 
Great-aunt  Phoebe ;  and  then  you  said  you 
would  tell  me  some  time,  and  this  is  some  tirne^ 
isn't  it,  Auntie  dear  ?  " 


LOOKING   BACKWARD.  151 

"I  cannot  deny  that,  Margaret,  certainly. 
And  I  don't  know  why  this  is  not  a  very  good 
time ;  the  twilight  is  soft  and  dusky,  and  Aunt 
Phoebe's  story  ought  not  to  be  told  in  broad 
daylight." 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  as  if  looking  back 
into  the  past.  "  It  is  the  sequel,  rather  than 
the  story  itself,  that  is  singular,"  she  said. 
"The  first  part  is  like  only  too  many  other 
stories,  alas  !  Your  Great-aunt  Phoebe  —  your 
Glreat-great-aunt,  I  should  say  —  was  betrothed 
to  a  brave  young  officer,  Lieutenant  Hethering- 
ton.  It  was  just  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  War 
of  1812,  and  the  engagement  was  made  just  as 
he  was  going  into  active  service.  She  was  a 
beautiful  girl,  with  large  dark  eyes,  and  superb 
fair  hair,  —  none  of  you  three  girls  have  this 
combination,  but  it  is  not  uncommon  among  the 
Montforts  ;  I  myself  had  fair  hair  and  dark 
eyes.  Phoebe  was  highly  romantic,  and  when 
her  lover  went  to  war,  she  gave  him  a  sword- 
belt  plaited  of  her  own  hair." 

"Oh,"    cried   Margaret,  "like    Sir  Percival's 
sister  !  " 

"  Exactly !     Very  likely   it   was    from    that 


152  THREE    MARGARETS. 

story  that  she  took  the  idea,  for  she  was  a  great 
reader.  However  it  might  be,  her  mother  was 
greatly  distressed  at  her  cutting  off  so  much  of 
her  fine  hair,  and  did  her  best  to  prevent  it,  but 
to  no  purpose,  as  you  may  imagine.  Giles 
Hetherington  joined  the  army,  carrying  the 
braided  belt  with  him,  and  they  say  he  never 
parted  with  it,  night  or  day,  but  slept  with  it 
beside  him  on  the  pillow.  Poor  fellow  !  He  was 
killed  in  a  night  attack  by  the  Indians,  set  on 
by  the  British.  He  was  in  a  hut  with  some 
other  officers,  and  the  sentry  must  have  slept  at 
his  post,  they  supposed.  They  were  surrounded, 
the  house  set  on  fire*  and  the  officers  all  killed. 
One  private  escaped  to  tell  the  dreadful  story, 
and  he  told  of  the  gallant  fight  they  made,  and 
how  Giles  Hetherington  fought  for  the  life  that 
was  so  dear  to  others.  He  defended  the  door 
while  two  of  his  comrades  forced  the  window 
open,  hoping  to  steal  around  and  take  the  sav 
ages  in  the  rear  ;  but  the  window  was  watched, 
too,  and  these  officers  were  shot  down,  and  then 
an  Indian  sprang  in  at  the  window,  and  stabbed 
Hetherington  in  the  back.  Ah,  me  !  It  is  a  ter 
rible  story,  dear  child  !  He  staggered  back  to 


LOOKING    BACKWARD.  153 

the  bed,  the  soldier  said,  and  caught  up  the  belt, 
that  was  lying  there  while  he  slept.  He  was 
past  speech,  but  he  gave  it  to  this  soldier,  who 
was  a  lad  from  this  place,  and  motioned  him  to 
the  window  ;  then  he  fell  back  dead,  and  the  man 
crept  out  of  the  window,  —  the  Indians  having 
run  around  to  the  front,  —  and  crawled  off,  lying 
flat  in  the  grass,  and  so  escaped  with  his  life.  He 
brought  the  belt,  all  dabbled  with  blood,  back  to 
Fernley,  meaning  to  give  it  to  Madam  Montfort 
quietly,  that  she  might  break  the  news  to  her 
daughter,  but  poor  Phoebe  chanced  to  come 
through  the  garden  just  as  he  was  standing  on  the 
steps  with  the  belt  in  his  hand,  and  she  saw  it." 

"  Oh  !  oh,  dear !  "  cried  Margaret,  clasping  her 
hands.  "  Aunt  Faith,  it  is  too  dreadful !  How 
could  she  bear  it  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  she  could  not  bear  it.  She  had 
not  the  strength.  She  did  not  lose  her  mind, 
like  poor  Aunt  Penelope,  but  really,  it  might 
almost  have  been  as  well  if  she  had,  poor  soul. 
When  she  woke  from  the  long  swoon  into  which 
she  had  fallen  at  sight  of  the  belt,  she  heard  all 
the  story  through  without  a  word,  and  then  she 
canie  here,  and  left  the  world." 


154  THREE   MARGARETS. 

"  Came  here  ?  "  repeated  Margaret. 

"  Here,  to  these  rooms  ;  but  what  different 
rooms  !  She  sent  for  a  painter,  and  had  the 
walls  painted  black.  She  had  everything  with 
an  atom  of  colour  in  it  taken  away ;  and  in  these 
black  rooms  she  lived,  and  in  them  she  died. 
She  wept  so  much  —  partly  that,  and  partly  the 
want  of  light  —  that  her  eyes  became  abnor 
mally  sensitive,  and  she  could  not  bear  even  to 
see  anything  white.  As  time  went  on  —  Mar 
garet,  you  will  hardly  believe  this,  but  it  is  lit 
erally  true  —  she  would  not  even  have  white 
china  on  her  table.  She  declared  it  hurt  her 
eyes.  So  her  father,  who  could  refuse  her  noth 
ing,  sent  for  a  set  of  dark  brown  china,  and  she 
ate  brown  bread  on  it,  —  would  not  look  at  white 
bread,  —  and  was  served  by  a  mulatto  woman, 
an  old  nurse  who  had  been  in  the  family  from 
her  childhood." 

"  Aunt  Faith,  can  it  be  —  you  say  it  really  is 
true  !  but  —  how  could  they  let  her  ?  Why  did 
they  not  have  an  oculist  ?  " 

"  My  dear  child,  oculists  did  not  exist  in  those 
days.  If  she  were  living  to-day,  it  would  be  pro 
nounced  a  case  of  nervous  exhaustion,  and  she 


LOOKING     BACKWARD.  155 

would  be  taken  for  a  sea  voyage,  or  sent  to  a 
rest-cure,  or  treated  in  one  of  the  hundred  differ 
ent  ways  that  we  know  of  nowadays.  But  then, 
nobody  knew  what  to  do  for  her,  poor  lady.  To 
be  '  crossed  in  love,'  as  it  was  called,  was  a  thing 
that  admitted  of  no  cure,  unless  the  patient  were 
willing  to  be  cured.  People  spoke  of  Phoebe 
Montfort  under  their  breath,  and  called  her  '  a 
blight,'  meaning  a  person  whose  life  has  been 
blighted.  The  world  has  gone  on  a  good  deal 
in  the  two  generations  since  then,  my  dear 
Margaret." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  Margaret ;  "  poor 
soul !  And  did  she  have  to  live  very  long,  Aunt 
Faith  ?  I  hope  not !  " 

"  A  good  many  years,  my  dear.  She  must 
have  been  an  elderly  woman  when  she  died ; 
not  old,  as  I  count  age,  but  perhaps  seventy-five, 
or  thereabouts.  I  lived  far  away  at  that  time, 
but  John  Montfort  has  often  told  me  of  the  time 
of  her  death.  He  was  a  little  lad,  and  he  re 
garded  the  Black  Rooms  and  their  tenant  with 
the  utmost  terror.  He  used  to  run  past  the 
door,  he  says,  for  fear  the  Black  Aunt  should 
come  out  and  seize  him,  and  take  him  into  her 


156  THREE   MARGARETS. 

dreary  dwelling.  Poor  Aunt  Phoebe  was  the 
mildest  creature  in  the  world,  and  would  not 
have  hurt  a  fly,  but  to  him  she  was  something 
awful,  —  out  of  nature.  He  was  taken  in  to  see 
her  once  or  twice  a  year,  and  he  always  had 
nightmare  after  it,  being  a  nervous  child.  Well, 
one  day  he  was  running  through  the  Green  Par 
lour  here,  and  looking  back  at  the  windows  of 
the  Black  Rooms,  as  he  never  could  help  doing ; 
and  he  saw  Kosalie,  the  coloured  woman,  come 
to  the  window  and  throw  it  wide  open,  letting 
in  the  full  light  of  day.  Then  she  went  to  the 
next,  and  so  on ;  and  the  child  knew  what  had 
happened  before  she  spoke.  ,  I  remember  her 
words  : 

"  '  She's  gone,  honey  !  Her  sperit's  gone.  It 
went  out'n  dis  window,  straight  by  whar  you's 
standin',  and  into  the  cedar  bush.  De  Lord  hab 
mercy  ! ' 

"  And  poor  little  John  took  to  his  heels,  and 
ran,  and  never  stopped  running  till  he  was  in 
his  own  bed  up-stairs. 

"  That  is  the  story,  Margaret ;  but  I  ought  to 
add  that  the  belt  of  hair  was  laid  in  the  grave 
with  her,  at  her  special  request." 


LOOKING    BACKWARD.  157 

"  What  a  sad,  sad  story  !  Poor  soul !  Poor, 
forlorn,  tortured  soul !  How  glad  she  must  have 
been  to  go !  Aunt  Faith  —  " 

"  Yes,  dear  Margaret !  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,  —  only  —  it  seems  dreadful 
sometimes,  to  feel  that  terrible  things  may  be 
coming,  coming  toward  one,  and  that  one  never 
can  look  forward,  never  know  when  they  may 
come !  I  sometimes  think,  if  I  could  see  a 
year  ahead,  or  even  a  week,  —  but  one  never 
knows.  I  suppose  it  is  best,  or  it  would  not 
be!" 

"  Assuredly,  dear  child  !  When  you  think  a 
little  more,  you  will  see  the  wisdom  and  the 
mercy  of  it.  How  could  we  go  steadfastly  along 
our  path  of  every  day,  if  some  day  we  saw  a  pit 
at  the  farther  end  ?  Life  would  be  impossible, 
Margaret." 

"  Yes,  I  —  I  suppose  so  !  "  said  Margaret 
thoughtfully. 

"And  all  the  time,"  Mrs.  Cheriton  went  on, 
"  all  the  time,  during  the  clear,  calm  days  and 
years,  my  child,  we  are,  or  we  ought  to  be, 
laying  by,  as  it  were  ;  storing  up  light  and 
strength  and  happiness  for  the  dark  days  when 


158  THREE   MARGARETS. 

we  may  so  deeply  need  them.  Think  a  moment ! 
Think  of  all  the  happy  days  and  years  with  your 
father !  They  are  blessed  memories,  are  they 
not,  Margaret?  every  day  is  like  a  jewel  that 
you  take  out  and  look  at,  and  then  put  back  in 
its  case;  you  never  lose  these  precious  things 
that  are  all  your  own !  " 

"Oh,  never!  oh,  how  well  you  know,  Aunt 
Faith!  how  you  must  have  felt  it  all!"  The 
girl  raised  her  head,  and  saw  the  face  of  the 
aged  woman  transfigured  with  light  and  beauty. 
She  also  was  looking  back  through  the  years,  — 
who  could  tell  how  long ! 

"But  suppose," — it  was  still  she  who  spoke, 

—  "  suppose  now,  Margaret,  that  these  memories 
were  other  than  they  are  !    Suppose  that  instead 
of  the  blessed  golden  days,  you  had  days  of  storm 
and  anger  and  disagreement  to  look  back  on; 
that  there  had  been  unkindness  on  one  side,  un 
faithfulness  on  the  other ;  suppose  it  had  been 
with  you  and  your  father  as  it  has  been  with 
some  parents  and  children  that  I  have  known, 

—  how  then  ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  murmured  Margaret,  her  eyes  filling 
with  tears,  that  yet  had  no  bitterness  in  them ; 


LOOKING    BACKWARD.  159 

"but  it  could  not  have  been  so,  Aunt  Faith. 
Papa  was  an  angel,  you  know;  an  angel  of 
goodness  and  love." 

"  Now  you  see  what  I  mean  by  storing  up 
light  against  the  dark  days,"  said  Mrs.  Cheriton. 
"  If  he  had  not  been  loving  and  good,  —  and  if 
you,  too,  had  not  been  a  good  and  dear  daughter, 
—  think  what  your  possessions  would  be  to-day. 
As  it  is,  you  have  what  can  never  be  taken  from 
you ;  and  so  if  we  -go  on  steadfastly,  as  I  said, 
content  not  to  see  before  us,  but  cherishing  and 
making  the  best  of  what  we  have  to-day,  the 
best  of  what  to-day  holds  will  be  ours  foreyer, 
till  death  comes  to  end  all  the  partings  and  all 
the  sorrow." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  rather  to  herself 
than  to  Margaret.  The  latter  sat  still,  not 
daring  to  speak ;  for  it  seemed  as  if  some  beau 
tiful  vision  were  passing  before  the  eyes  of  the 
old  woman.  She  sat  looking  a  little  upward, 
with  her  lips  slightly  parted,  the  breath  coming 
and  going  so  softly  that  one  could  not  perceive 
it,  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap.  Now  the  lips 
moved,  and  Margaret  heard  the  low  words  of 
a  prayer,  rather  breathed  than  whispered.  An- 


160  THREE   MARGARETS. 

other  moment,  and  the  brown  eyes  grew  bright 
and  smiling  once  more,  and  the  kindly  gaze  fell 
on  the  girl,  who  sat  awestruck,  half  afraid  to 
breathe. 

"My  poor   Margaret!"    said   Mrs.    Cheriton 
quickly.    «  My  poor  little  girl,  I  have  frightened 
you.     Dear,  when  one  is  so  old  as  I  am  the  veil 
seems  very  thin,  and  I  often  look  half  through 
it  and  feel  the  air  from  the  other  side.     But  you 
—  you  must  not  stay  here  too  long,  you  must 
not  be  saddened   by   an   old   woman's   moods. 
You  love  to  stay,  and  I  love  to  have  you,  but 
it  must  not  be  too  long.     I  will  just  tell  you 
about  the  change   in   the   rooms,  and   then  — 
well,  the  Black  Rooms  remained  shut  up  for 
many,  many  years  after  Aunt  Phoebe's  death. 
Indeed,  I  fancy  they  were  never  used  until  after 
your   grandfather's   death,  when   the   property 
was  divided,  and  your  Uncle  John  took  Fernley 
as  his  share.      Then  one  of  the  first  things  he 
did  was  to  throw  open  these  rooms,  send  for 
a  painter,  and  have  them  painted  white  from 
floor  to  ceiling,  as  you  see.     He  had  no  use  for 
them  at  that  time,  but  he  has  told  me  that  he 
did   not   like   to   be   in   the  same   house   with 


LOOKING    BACKWARD.  161 

anything  black.  Everything  burnable  was 
burned,  —  for  your  grandfather,  as  long  as  he 
lived,  kept  Aunt  Phoebe's  belongings  just  as 
she  left  them,  —  the  brown  crockery  was 
smashed  —  " 

"Oh,  that  was  a  pity!"  cried  Margaret. 
"Just  for  the  curiosity — " 

"  I  have  a  piece,  my  dear !  "  said  Mrs.  Cher- 
iton.  "Elizabeth  Wilson  — good  Elizabeth  — 
saved  a  piece  for  me ;  and  she  kept  one  of  the 
black  silk  gowns  (she  has  been  in  the  house  ever 
since  she  was  a  child),  to  put  in  the  family  chest. 
So  there,  Margaret,  you  have  the  story  of  Aunt 
Phoebe  from  beginning  to  end.  And  now  you 
must  go  out  and  play." 

"Oh,  just  a  moment!"  pleaded  Margaret, 
"  Aunt  Faith,  —  Uncle  John  must  be  very 
nice." 

"  My  dear,  he  is  the  best  man  in  the  world. 
There  is  not  a  doubt  about  it." 

"  Shall  we  see  him  at  all,  Aunt  Faith  ?  " 
'You  shall  see  him.      I  cannot  say  exactly 
when,  but  you  shall  see  him,  Margaret;  that 
I  promise  you  on  the  word  of  a  centenarian. 
Now  will  you  go,  or  shall  Janet  — " 


162  THREE   MARGARETS. 

"  Oh,  I  will  go  !  I  will  go  !  Good-bye,  dear 
Aunt  Faith.  I  have  had  the  most  delightful 
hour/'  and  Janet  came  and  closed  the  white 
door  softly  after  her. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HEROES    AND    HEROINES. 

"  Oh  for  a  knight  like  Bayard, 
Without  reproach  or  fear !  " 

"How  to  support  life  on  such  a  day  as  this  ?  " 
demanded  Rita,  coming  out  of  her  room,  and 
confronting  her  cousins  as  they  came  up-stairs. 
She  had  been  asleep,  and  her  dark  eyes  were 
still  misty  and  vague.  The  others,  on  the  con 
trary,  had  been  running  in  the  rain,  and  they 
were  all  a-tingle  with  life  and  fresh  air,  and 
a-twinkle  with  rain-drops.  The  moment  was 
not  a  good  one,  and  Rita's  straight  brows  drew 
together  ominously. 

6  You  have  been  —  amusing  yourselves,  it  ap 
pears,"  she  said,  in  the  old  withering  tone  that 
they  were  learning  to  forget.  "  Of  course,  here 
nothing  matters ;  one  may  as  well  be  a  savage 
as  an  elegante  in  the  wilderness;  but  I  should 
be  sorry  to  meet  you  in  Havana,  my  cousins ! " 


164  THREE    MARGARETS. 

Peggy  hung  her  head,  and  tried  to  keep  her 
muddy  feet  out  of  sight.  Margaret  only  laughed, 
and  held  up  her  petticoats  higher. 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  with  us,  Rita ! " 
she  said.  "  We  have  had  great  fun.  The  gar 
den  is  one  great  shower-bath,  and  the  brook  is 
roaring  like  a  baby  lion.  I  am  really  beginning 
to  learn  how  to  walk  in  wet  feet,  am  I  not, 
Peggy?  I  used  to  think  I  should  die  if  my 
feet  were  wet.  It  is  really  delightful  to  feel  the 
water  go  4  plop ! '  in  and  out  of  one's  boots. 
Now,  my  dear,"  she  added,  "  I  really  cannot  let 
you  be  cross,  because  Peggy  and  I  are  in  the 
most  delightful  good  humour,  and  we  came  in 
on  purpose,  because  we  thought  you  would  be 
awake,  and  would  want  to  be  amused.  If  you 
frown,  Rita,  I  shall  kiss  you,  all  dripping  wet, 
and  you  know  you  could  not  bear  that." 

She  advanced,  holding  up  her  rosy,  shining 
face,  down  which  the  drops  were  still  streaming. 
Rita  uttered  a  shriek  and  vanished. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  talk  to  her  that 
way,"  said  Peggy  admiringly.  "  When  she 
opens  her  eyes  at  me,  and  pulls  her  eyebrows 
together,  I  feel  about  two  inches  high  and  three 


HEROES     AND     HEROINES.  165 

years  old.  You  are  brave  in  your  own  way, 
Margaret,  if  you  can't  pull  people  out  of  bogs." 

Margaret  laughed  again.  "  My  dear,  I  found 
it  was  the  only  way,"  she  said.  "  If  I  let  her 
ride  over  me  — "  Here  she  stopped  suddenly, 
and  with  a  change  of  tone  bade  Peggy  hasten 
to  change  her  wet  clothes.  "It  is  all  very  fine 
to  get  wet,"  she  said,  "  and  I  am  grateful  for 
the  lesson,  Peggy ;  but  I  know  that  one  must 
change  when  she  comes  in." 

Peggy  made  a  grimace,  and  said  that  at  home 
she  was  often  wet  through  from  morning  till 
night,  and  nobody  cared;  but  Margaret  reso 
lutely  pushed  her  into  her  room  and  shut  the 
door,  before  going  on  to  her  own. 

In  a  few  minutes  both  girls,  dry  and  freshly 
clad,  knocked  at  Rita's  door;  and  though  her 
"  Come  in "  still  sounded  rather  sullen,  it  was 
yet  a  distinct  invitation,  and  they  entered.  Rita 
had  made  this  room  over  in  her  own  way,  much 
to  Elizabeth's  inconvenience.  The  chintz  cur 
tains  were  almost  covered  with  little  flags,  em 
blems,  feathery  grasses,  and  the  like,  pinned 
here  and  there  in  picturesque  confusion.  A 
large  Cuban  flag  draped  the  mantelpiece,  and 


166  THREE   MARGARETS. 

portraits  of  the  Cuban  leaders  adorned  the  walls. 
Over  the  dressing-table  was  the  great  scarlet 
fan  which  had  played  such  a  conspicuous  part 
in  the  drama  of  "  Cuba  Libre;'  and  it  was 
pinned  to  the  wall  with  a  dagger  of  splendid 
and  alarming  appearance.  The  mirror  was  com 
pletely  framed  in  photographs,  mostly  of  dark- 
eyed  senoritas  in  somewhat  exaggerated  toilets. 
Inscriptions  in  every  variety  of  sprawling  hand 
testified  to  the  undying  love  of  Conchita,  Dolores, 
Manuela,  and  a  dozen  others,  for  their  all-beauti 
ful  Margarita,  to  part  from  whom  was  death. 

If  this  were  literally  true,  the  youthful  popula 
tion  of  Cuba  must  have  been  sensibly  diminished 
by  Rita's  departure.  There  were  black-browed 
youths,  too,  some  gazing  tenderly,  some  scowling 
fiercely,  all  wearing  the  Cuban  ribbon  with  all 
possible  ostentation.  One  of  these  youths  was 
manifestly  Carlos  Montfort,  Rita's  brother,  for 
they  were  like  enough  to  have  been  twins; 
another  had  been  pointed  out  to  Margaret,  in 
a  whisper  charged  with  dramatic  meaning,  as 
"Fernando,"  the  cousin  on  her  mother's  side, 
the  handsomest  man  in  Havana,  and  the  most 
fascinating.  Margaret  looked  coolly  enough  at 


HEROES     AND     HEROINES.  167 

this  devastator  of  hearts,  and  thought  that  her 
own  cousin  Carlos  was  far  handsomer.  Peggy 
thought  so,  too ;  indeed,  her  susceptible  sixteen- 
year-old  heart  was  deeply  impressed  by  Cousin 
Carlos' s  appearance,  and  she  would  often  steal 
into  the  room  during  Rita's  absence,  to  peep 
and  sigh  at  the  delicate,  high-bred  face,  with  its 
flashing  dark  eyes,  and  the  hair  that  grew  low 
on  the  forehead,  with  just  the  same  tendril  curls 
that  made  Rita's  hair  so  lovely.  Oh!  Peggy 
would  think,  if  her  own  hair  were  only  dark, 
or  even  brown,  —  anything  but  this  disgusting, 
wishy-washy  flaxen.  She  had  longed  for  dark 
eyes  and  hair  ever  since  she  could  remember. 
Poor  Peggy!  But  she  kept  her  little  romance 
to  herself,  and  indeed  it  was  a  very  harmless 
one,  and  helped  her  a  good  deal  about  keeping 
her  hair  neat  and  her  shoe-strings  tied. 

When  the  girls  went  in  now,  they  found  Rita 
curled  up  on  her  sofa,  with  the  robe  and  pillow 
of  chinchilla  fur  that  had  come  with  her  from 
Cuba.  It  was  a  bad  sign,  Margaret  had  learned, 
when  the  furs  came  out  in  warm  weather.  It 
meant  a  headache  generally,  and  at  any  rate 
a  chilly  state  of  body,  which  was  apt  to  be 


168  THREE   MARGARETS. 

accompanied  by  a  peevish  state  of  mind.  Still, 
she  looked  so  pretty,  peeping  out  of  the  soft  gray 
nest !  She  was  such  a  child,  after  all,  in  spite 
of  her  seventeen  years,  —  decidedly,  she  must  be 
amused. 

"  Well,"  said  Rita,  half  dolefully,  half  crossly, 
"  I  cannot  command  solitude,  it  appears.  I  am 
desolated;  I  desire  to  die,  while  this  frightful 
rain  pours  down,  but  I  cannot  die  alone  ;.  that  is 
not  suffered  me." 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Margaret  cheerfully. 
"  Don't  die  yet,  please,  dear,  but  when  you  feel 
that  you  must,  we  will  be  at  hand  to  take  your 
last  wishes,  won't  we,  Peggy  ?  " 

But  Peggy  thought  Margaret  cruel,  and  could 
only  look  at  Rita  remorsefully,  feeling  that  she 
had  sinned,  she  knew  not  how. 

"  And  how  are  we  to  amuse  ourselves  ?  "  added 
Margaret,  seating  herself  on  the  couch  at  Rita's 
feet.  "  I  think  we  must  tell  stories ;  it  is  a  per 
fect  day  for  stories.  Oh,  Peggy,  don't  you  want 
to  get  my  knitting,  like  the  dear  good  child  you 
are?  I  cannot  listen  well  unless  I  have  my 
knitting." 

Peggy  brought  the  great  pink  and  gray  blan- 


HEROES     AND     HEROINES.  169 

ket  which  had  been  Margaret's  friend  and  com 
panion  for  several  months,  and  with  it  her  own 
diminutive  piece  of  work,  a  doily  that  she  was 
supposed  to  be  embroidering.  Rita  lay  watch 
ing  them  with  bright  eyes,  her  eyebrows  still 
nearer  together  than  was  desirable.  At  last, 
"Well,"  she  said  again.  There  was  impatience 
and  irritation  in  the  tone,  but  there  was  interest, 
too. 

"  Well,"  replied  Margaret,  "  I  was  only  think 
ing  what  would  be  pleasantest  to  do ;  there  are 
so  many  things.  How  would  it  do  for  each 
of  us  to  tell  a  story,  —  a  heroic  story,  such  as 
'will  stand  the  rain,  and  not  be  afraid  of  a 
wetting  ?  " 

"  Of  our  own  deeds  ?  "  inquired  Eita. 

"Oh,  perhaps  hardly  that.  If  I  waited  to 
find  a  heroic  deed  of  my  own  performance,  you 
might  get  tired,  my  dear.  Somehow  heroics  do  not 
come  every  day,  as  they  used  in  story  times. 
But  I  can  tell  you  one  of  my  father.  Will  you 
hear  it  ?  " 

Rita  nodded  languidly;  Peggy  looked  up 
eagerly. 

"  It  was  in  the  great  Blankton  fire,"  said  Mar- 


170  THREE   MARGARETS. 

garet.  "I  don't  suppose  you  know  about  it, 
Rita,  but  Peggy  may  have  heard.  No  ?  Well, 
the  country  is  very  big,  after  all.  It  seems  as 
if  all  the  world  must  have  heard  of  that  fire. 
I  was  hardly  more  than  a  baby  at  the  time,  but 
I  remember  seeing  the  red  glare,  and  thinking 
that  we  were  not  going  to  have  any  night  that 
time,  as  the  sun  was  getting  up  again  as  soon  as 
he  had  gone  to  bed.  We  were  living  in  Blankton 
that  winter,  for  papa  had  some  work  that  made 
it  necessary  for  him  to  be  near  the  Blankton  libra 
ries  ;  Historical  Society  work,  you  know,  as  so 
much  of  his  work  was."  She  paused  for  some 
appreciative  word,  but  none  came.  Apparently 
neither  of  her  cousins  had  heard  of  the  Histori 
cal  Society,  which  had  played  so  large  a  part  in 
her  father's  life  and  her  own. 

"  The  whole  sky  was  like  blood !  "  she  went 
on  ;  "  and  when  the  smoke-clouds  that  hung  low 
over  the  city  blew  aside,  we  could  see  the 
flames  darting  up,  high,  high,  like  pillars  and 
spires.  Oh  !  it  was  a  beautiful,  dreadful  sight ! 
I  watched  it,  baby  as  I  was,  with  delight.  I 
never  thought  that  my  own  father  was  in  all 
that  terrible  glow  and  furnace,  and  that  he 


HEROES    AND    HEROINES.  171 

came  near  losing  his  precious  life  to  save  an 
other's." 

"  How  ?  "  cried  Peggy,  roused  at  the  mention 
of  saving  life.  "  Did  he  start  another  fire  to 
meet  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no ! "  cried  Margaret,  in  her  turn 
failing  to  appreciate  the  Western  point  of  view. 
"  He  tried  to  help  put  it  out  at  first  in  the 
building  where  he  was,  and  when  he  saw  that 
was  impossible,  he  went  to  work  getting  out 
his  books  and  papers.  They  were  very,  very 
valuable ;  no  money  could  have  bought  some  of 
them,  he  said,  for  they  were  "original  documents, 
and  in  some  cases  there  were  no  duplicates. 
They  were  Papa's  treasures,  —  more  to  him  than 
twenty  fortunes.  So  he  began  taking  them  out, 
slowly  and  carefully,  thinking  he  had  plenty  of 
time.  But  after  he  had  taken  out  the  first 
load,  he  heard  cries  and  groans  in  a  room  near 
his  own  office,  and  going  in,  he  found  an  old 
man,  a  wretched  old  miser  that  lived  there  all 
alone,  in  dirt  and  misery,  though  every  one 
knew  he  was  immensely  rich.  He  seemed  to 
have  gone  out  of  his  mind  with  fright,  and 
there  he  sat,  his  hands  full  of  notes  and  bonds 


172  THREE   MARGARETS. 

and  things,  screaming  and  crying,  and  saying 
that  he  could  not  go  out,  for  he  would  be 
robbed,  and  he  must  stay  there  and  burn  to 
death.  Papa  tried  to  reason  with  him,  but  he 
would  not  listen,  only  screamed  louder,  and 
called  Papa  a  robber  when  he  tried  to  take 
the  papers  from  him.  Then  Papa  called  to  the 
men  who  were  passing  by  to  help  him,  but  they 
were  all  so  busy  saving  their  own  things,  they 
could  not  stop,  I  suppose,  or  at  any  rate,  they  did 
not ;  and  all  the  time  the  fire  was  coming  nearer, 
and  the  smoke  was  getting  thicker  and  thicker. 
Somebody  who  knew  Papa  called  to  him  that 
the  fire  had  reached  his  entry,  and  that  in  five 
minutes  his  office  would  be  in  flames.  He 
started  to  run,  thinking  he  could  get  out  a 
few  precious  books,  and  let  the  others  go  while 
he  got  the  old  man  out ;  but  this  time  the  poor 
old  soul  clung  to  him,  and  begged  not  to  be  left 
to  burn,  and  looking  out  into  the  hall,  Papa  saw 
the  smoke-cloud  all  shot  with  flame,  and  bright 
tongues  licking  along  the  walls  toward  him.  So 
he  took  the  old  man  by  the  arm  and  tried  to 
lead  him  out,  but  he  screamed  that  his  i)ox  must 
go  too,  his  precious  box,  or  he  should  die  of 


HEROES     AND     HEROINES.  173 

grief.  That  was  his  strong-box,  and  it  was  too 
heavy  for  him  to  lift,  so  he  sat  down  beside  it, 
hugging  it,  and  saying  that  he  would  never 
leave  it.  Poor  Papa  was  at  his  wit's  end,  for  at 
any  moment  they  might  be  surrounded  and  cut 
off  from  the  stairs.  So  he  heaved  up  the  box 
and  threw  it  out  of  the  window,  and  then  he 
took  the  old  miser  on  his  back  and  ran  for  his 
life.  Oh,  girls,  there  was  only  just  time  !  He 
had  to  run  through  the  fire,  and  his  hair  and 
beard  were  singed,  and  his  clothes ;  but  he  got 
through,  half  blinded  and  choked,  and  almost 
strangled,  too,  for  the  old  miser  was  clutching 
his  throat  all  the  time,  and  screaming  out  that 
he  had  murdered  him." 

"Why  did  he  not  drop  him?"  inquired  Rita. 
"My  faith,  why  should  he  be  saved,  the  old 
vegetable  ?  " 

"Oh,  Rita,  you  don't  know  what  you  are 
saying.  It  was  a  human  life,  and  of  course  he 
had  to  save  it ;  but  it  did  seem  cruel  that  the 
precious  books  and  papers  had  to  be  sacrificed 
for  just  Wretched  money.  That  was  the  heroic 
part  of  it,  —  Papa's  leaving  the  things  that  meant 
more  to  him  than  anything  in  the  world,  except 


174  THKEE   MARGARETS. 

me  and  his  friends,  and  saving  the  old  miser's 
money." 

"  If  he  could  have  saved  him  and  the  books, 
and  let  the  money  go  to  Jericho  !  "  said  Peggy ; 
"  but  I  suppose  he  couldn't." 

"  That  was  just  it !  The  man  was  really  out 
of  his  mind,  you  see,  and  if  Papa  had  left  him 
he  might  have  run  into  the  fire,  or  jumped  out 
of  the  window,  or  done  any  other  crazy  thing. 
Well,  that  is  my  story,  girls.  Who  shall  come 
next,  —  you,  Rita  ?  " 

Rita  had  been  only  partly  roused  by  the  story 
of  the  fire.  An  uncle  saving  a  dirty  old  man 
and  his  money  did  not  specially  appeal  to  her ; 
the  hero  should  have  been  young  and  ardent, 
and  should  have  saved  a  lady  from  the  burning 
house.  Peggy  wanted  to  be  responsive,  but  it 
seemed  a  great  fuss  to  make  over  musty  old 
books  and  papers ;  probably  they  were  like 
those  that  Margaret  made  such  a  time  about 
in  the  library  here ;  Peggy  had  looked  at  some 
of  them,  and  they  were  as  dry  as  dry  could  be. 
If  he  had  saved  a  dog,  now,  or  a  child,  —  and 
at  the  thought  her  eyes  brightened. 

"  Do  heroines  count,"  she  asked;  "or  must  it 
be  a  man  ?  " 


HEROES     AND     HEROINES.  175 

"  Of  course  they  count ! "  cried  Margaret, 
bending  over  her  work  to  hide  the  tears  that 
came  to  her  eyes.  She  felt  the  glow  checked  in 
her  heart,  —  knew  that  her  story,  her  beloved 
story,  had  not  struck  the  note  that  always 
thrilled  her  when  she  saw  in  thought  her  father, 
slender,  gray-haired,  carrying  :  ^t  the  strange 
man,  and  leaving  behind  him,  without  a  word, 
the  fruits  of  years  of  toil. 

"  Of  course  heroines  count,  my  dear  !  Have 
you  one  for  us  ?  " 

"  Ma  did  something  nice  once,"  said  Peggy 
shyly;  "  she  saved  my  life  when  I  was  a  baby." 

"  Tell  us ! "  cried  both  girls,  and  Rita's  eyes 
brightened,  for  this  seemed  to  promise  better. 

"  It  was  when  Pa  first  took  up  the  claim," 
said  Peggy.  "  The  country  was  pretty  wild 
then,  —  Indians  about,  and  a  good  many  big 
beasts  :  panthers,  and  mountain  lions,  and  so  on. 
I  was  the  only  girl,  and  I  was  two  years  old. 
Pa  used  to  be  out  on  the  claim  all  day,  and  the 
boys  with  him,  all  except  Hugh,  and  he  was  in 
bed  at  that  time ;  and  Ma  used  to  work  in  the 
garden,  and  keep  me  by  her  so  that  I  wouldn't 
get  into  mischief. 


176  THREE   MARGARETS. 

"  One  day  she  was  picking  currants,  and  I  had 
been  sitting  by  her,  playing  with  some  holly 
hock  flowers  she  had  given  me.  She  did  not 
notice  when  I  crawled  away,  but  suddenly  she 
heard  me  give  a  queer  sort  of  scream.  She 
turned  round,  and  there  was  a  big  panther 
dragging  me  off  down  the  garden  path  by  my 
dress.  Ma  felt  as  if  she  was  dead  for  a  minute ; 
but  then  she  ran  back  to  the  seed-house  —  it  was 
only  a  few  steps  off  —  and  got  a  hoe  that  she 
knew  was  there,  and  tore  off  after  the  panther. 
It  wasn't  going  very  fast,  for  I  was  a  pretty 
heavy  baby,  and  it  didn't  know  at  first  that 
any  one  was  after  it.  When  it  heard  Ma  coming 
it  started  off  quicker,  and  had  almost  got  to  the 
woods  when  she  caught  up.  Ma  raised  that  hoe 
and  brought  it  down  on  the  beast's  head  as  hard 
as  she  knew  how.  It  dropped  me,  and  turned 
on  her,  grinning  and  snarling,  and  curling  its 
claws  all  ready  for  a  spring.  She  never  stopped 
to  draw  breath ;  she  raised  the  hoe  again,  and 
that  time,  she  says,  she  prayed  to  the  swing  of 
it;  and  she  brought  it  down,  and  heard  the 
creature's  skull  go  crash  under  it,  and  felt  the 
hoe  sink  in.  The  panther  gave  a  scream  and 


HEROES     AND     HEROINES.  177 

rolled  over,  and  then  Ma  rolled  over  too ;  and 
when  Pa  came  home  to  dinner,  a  few  minutes 
later,  they  were  both  lying  there  still,  and  I 
was  trying  to  pick  up  my  hollyhock  flowers. 
We  have  never  had  hollyhocks  since  then ;  Ma 
can't  bear  'em." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  the  effect  of  Peggy's 
story.  Before  it  was  finished  Rita  was  sitting 
bolt  upright,  her  chinchilla  robe  thrown  back, 
her  hands  clasped  over  her  knee,  her  eyes  alight 
with  interest ;  and  Margaret  cried,  "  Oh,  Peggy, 
Peggy,  what  a  splendid  story !  " 
"  Well,  it's  true  !  "  said  Peggy. 
"  Of  course,  it  is ;  that's  the  splendid  part. 
Oh,  I  am  so  proud  to  have  an  aunt  so  brave 
and  strong.  Aunt  — why,  Peggy,  you  have 
never  told  me  your  mother's  name!" 

"  You  never  asked,"  said  Peggy.  "Her  name 
is  Susan." 

Margaret  blushed,  and  mentally  applied  the 
scourge  to  herself.  It  was  true  ;  she  never  had 
asked.  Peggy  had  said  that  her  mother  had  no 
education,  and  had  got  along  very  well  without 
it ;  this  was  all  that  Margaret  wanted  to  know. 
A  shallow,  ignorant  woman,  who  had  let  her 


178  THREE   MARGARETS. 

child  grow  up  in  such  ignorance  as  Peggy's ; 
and  now  she  learned,  all  in  a  moment,  of  a 
strong,  brave  woman,  helping  her  husband  to 
clear  the  waste  where  their  home  was  to  be, 
making  that  home,  bringing  up  her  great  family 
in  love  and  rude  plenty,  and  killing  wild  beasts 
with  her  own  hard,  honest  hand.  Margaret 
was  learning  a  good  deal  this  summer,  and  this 
was  one  of  the  most  salutary  lessons.  She 
bowed  her  head  and  accepted  it,  but  she  only 
said  aloud : 

"  Aunt  Susan  !  I  hope  I  shall  know  her  some 
day.  I  shall  put  her  in  my  heroine  book,  Peggy, 
from  this  minute."  And  the  tone  was  so  warm 
and  hearty  that  Peggy's  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
and  she  felt  dimly  that  she,  too,  had  been  neg 
lectful  of  "  Ma "  of  late,  and  resolved  to  write 
a  good  long  letter  that  very  afternoon. 

"  And  now  it  is  your  turn,  Rita ! "  said  Mar 
garet.  "  I  give  you  till  I  knit  to  the  end  of  this 
row  to  find  a  hero  or  heroine  in  your  family. 
You  must  have  plenty  of  them/' 

Rita  laughed,  and  curled  herself  into  another 
graceful,  sinuous  attitude.  Her  eyes  •  shone. 
"  My  brother  Carlos  is  in  the  mountains/'  she 


HEROES     AND     HEROINES.  179 

said ;  "  my  cousin  Fernando  with  him.  Pouf ! 
if  I  were  with  them !  " 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  went  on, 
speaking  slowly,  and  pausing  every  few  minutes 
to  blow  little  holes  in  her  chinchilla  robe,  a 
favourite  amusement  of  hers. 

"  The  San  Reals  have  plenty  of  heroes,  hero 
ines  too ;  my  mother  was  a  San  Real,  you 
remember.  What  will  you  have,  Marguerite  ? 
Far  back,  an  ancestor  of  mine  was  the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  Spain.  Her  lover  was 
seized  by  the  Inquisition ;  she  went  to  the 
Tribunal,  accused  herself,  and  died  in  his  place. 
Will  you  have  her  for  a  heroine  ?  My  great 
grandfather —  he  was  a  Grandee  of  Spain. 
The  nephew  of  the  king  insulted  him  to  the 
death,  and  thought  his  rank  made  him  safe. 
He  was  found  dead  the  next  morning,  and  my 
great-grandfather  lay  dead  beside  him,  with  the 
dagger  in  his  heart  that  had  first  slain  the 
prince.  Is  he  a'  hero  such  as  you  love,  Mar 
guerite?" 

"No,  not  at  all!"  cried  Margaret,  "Rita, 
what  dreadful  tales  !  Those  were  the  dark  days, 
when  people  did  not  know  better ;  but  surely  you 


180  THREE   MARGARETS. 

must  have  some  ancestors  who  were  not  murd  — 
who  did  not  die  violent  deaths." 

"  They  are  San  Reals  !  "  said  Rita.  "  They 
had  royal  blood  of  Spain  in  their  veins.  Cold, 
thin,  Northern  blood  cannot  warm  to  true  hero 
ism."  She  sulked  for  some  time  after  this,  and 
refused  to  say  anything  more ;  but  desire  of 
imparting  was  strong  in  her,  and  Margaret's 
smile  could  not  be  resisted  indefinitely. 

"  Come  !  "  she  said.  "  You  meant  no  harm, 
Marguerite ;  you  cannot  understand  me  or  my 
people,  but  I  should  have  known  it,  and  your 
birth  is  not  your  fault.  Listen,  then,  and  see 
if  this  will  please  you." 

She  seemed  to  meditate  for  some  time,  and 
when  she  spoke  again  it  was  still  more  slowly, 
as  if  she  were  choosing  her  words. 

"  Once  on  a  time,  —  no  matter  when,  —  there 
was  a  war.  A  cruel,  unjust,  devilish  war,  when 
the  people  of  —  when  my  people  were  ground  to 
the  earth,  tortured,  annihilated.  All  that  was 
right  and  true  and  good  was  on  one  side ;  on  the 
other,  all  that  was  base  and  brutal  and  horrible. 
There  was  no  good,  none  !  they  are  —  they  were 
devils,  allowed  to  come  to  earth,  —  who  can  tell 
why? 


HEROES     AND     HEROINES.  181 

«  The  —  the  army  of  my  people  had  suffered  ; 
they  were  in  need  of  many  things,  of  food,  of 
shoes,  but  most  of  all  of  arms.  The  whole 
nation  cried  for  bloodshed,  and  there  were  not 
arms  for  the  half  of  them.  How  to  get  weap 
ons  ?  ,  Near  by  there  was  another  country,  but 
a  short  way  across  the  water  —  " 

"Africa?"  asked  Peggy  innocently.  But 
Rita  flashed  at  her  with  eyes  and  teeth. 

"  If  you  will  be  silent,  Calibana  !  Do  I  tell 
this  story,  or  do  you?  have  I  mentioned  a 


O 

name  I 


"  I  beg  pardon  !  "  muttered  poor  Peggy.  "  I 
didn't  mean  to  interrupt,  Rita  ;  I  only  thought 
Africa  was  the  nearest  to  Spain  across  the 
water." 

Rita  glowered  at  her,  and  continued.  "  This 
neighbour  -  country  was  rich,  great,  powerful; 
but  her  people  were  greedy,  slothful,  asleep. 
They  had  arms,  they  had  food,  money,  every 
thing.  Did  they  help  my  people  in  their  need  ? 
I  tell  you,  no  !  " 

She  almost  shrieked  the  last  words,  and 
Margaret  looked  up  in  some  alarm,  but  con 
cluding  that  Rita  was  merely  working  herself 


182 


THREE   MARGARETS. 


up  to  a  dramatic  crisis,  she  went  on  with  her 
knitting. 

"  To  this  rich,  slothful  country,"  Rita  went  on, 
dwelling  on  every  adjective  with  infinite  relish, 
"  came  a  girl,  a  daughter  of  the  country  that  was 
bleeding,  dying.     She  was  young ;  she  had  fire 
in  her  veins  instead  of  blood;   she  was  a  San 
Real.     She  stayed  in  a  house  —  a  place  —  near 
the  seashore,  a  house  empty  for  the  great  part ; 
full  of  rooms,  empty  of  persons.     The  thought 
came  to  her, —  Here  I  could  conceal  arms,  could 
preserve   them   for   my  country,  could  deliver 
them  to  vessels  coming  by  sea.     It  is  a  night 
expedition,  it  is  a  little  daring,  a  little  valour, 
the  risk  of  my  life,  — what  is  that?     I  could 
arm    my   country,    my    brothers,    against    the 
tyrants.      I   could  —  "   Rita  paused,  and  both 
girls   looked   at   her   in  amazement.     She  had 
risen   from   the   couch,  and   now  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room ;  her  slender  form  quivered 
with  emotion ;  her  great  eyes  shone  with  dark 
fire ;  her  voice  vibrated  on  their  ears  with  new 
and  powerful  cadences. 

"This  girl  —  was  alone.      She  needed  help. 
With  her  in  the  house  were  others,  her  friends, 


HEROES    AND     HEROINES.  183 

but  knowing  little  of  her  heart.  Their  blood 
flowed  slowly,  coldly;  they  were  good,  they 
were  kind,  but  —  would  they  help  her  ?  Would 
they  brave  danger  for  her  sake,  for  the  sake  of 
the  country  that  was  dearer  to  her  than  life? 
Alone  she  was  but  one,  with  their  aid  — 

"  Listen  !  there  came  one  day  a  letter  to  this 
house  by  the  sea ;  it  was  for  —  for  the  person  of 
whom  I  speak.  Her  brother  was  near,  in  a  city 
not  far  off.  He  had  come  to  collect  arms,  he 
had  bought  them,  he  must  find  a  place  to  con 
ceal  them.  Her  dream  was  about  to  come  true. 
She  turned  to  her  friends,  the  two  whom  she 
loved !  She  opened  her  arms,  she  opened  her 
soul ;  she  cried  to  them  —  " 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Margaret.  She,  too,  had  risen 
to  her  feet,  and  her  face  was  very  pale.  Peggy 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  alarm.  Were 
they  going  to  quarrel?  Margaret's  eyes  were 
as  bright  as  Rita's,  but  their  light  was  calm 
and  penetrating,  not  flashing  and  glowing  with 
passion. 

"  Rita,"  she  said,  "  I  hope  —  I  trust  I  am 
entirely  wrong  in  what  I  cannot  help  thinking. 
I  trust  this  is  a  story,  and  nothing  else.  It  can- 


184  THREE   MARGARETS. 

not  be  anything  else  !  "  she  continued,  her  voice 
gaining  firmness  as  she  went  on.  "  We  are  here 
in  our  uncle's  house.  He  is  away,  he  has  left 
us  in  charge,  having  confidence  in  his  brothers' 
daughters.  If  —  if  anything  —  if  anybody 
should  plan  such  a  thing  as  you  suggest,  it 
would  not  only  be  ungrateful,  it  would  be  base. 
I  could  not  harbour  such  a  thought  for  an  in 
stant.  Oh,  I  hope  I  wrong  you  !  I  hope  it  was 
only  a  dramatic  fancy.  Tell  me  that  it  was, 
my  dear,  and  I  will  beg  your  pardon  most 
humbly." 

She  paused  for  an  answer,  but  Kita  made 
none  for  the  moment. 

She  stood  silent,  the  very  soul  of  passion,  her 
eyes  dilating,  her  lips  apart,  her  breast  heaving 
with  the  furious  words  that  her  will  would  not 
suffer  to  escape.  Margaret  almost  thought  she 
would  spring  upon  her,  like  the  wild  creature 
she  seemed.  But  presently  a  change  came  over 
the  Cuban  girl.  A  veil  gathered  over  the  glow 
ing  eyes  ;  her  hands  unclenched  themselves, 
opened  softly ;  her  whole  frame  seemed  to  relax 
its  tension,  and  in  another  moment  she  dropped 
on  her  couch  with  a  low  laueh. 


HEROES     AND     HEROINES.  185 

"  Chere  Marguerite"  she  said,  "you,  too, 
were  born  for  the  stage.  Your  climax,  it  was 
magnificent,  trds  chere, ;  pity  that  you  spoiled 
it  with  an  anti-climax."  And  she  shrugged 
her  shoulders.  "  My  poor  little  story !  You 
would  not  even  let  me  finish  it.  No  matter; 
perhaps  it  has  no  end ;  perhaps  I  was  but 
trying  to  see  if  I  could  put  life  into  you, 
statues  that  you  are.  Ah,  it  was  a  pretty 
story,  if  I  could  have  been  permitted  to  finish 
it!" 

Margaret  turned  scarlet.  "  My  dear,  if  I  have 
been  rude,"  she  said,  "  I  am  very  sorry,  Rita ; 
I  thought  — " 

"  You  thought ! "  said  Rita,  her  full  voice 
dropping  the  words  scornfully,  in  a  way  that 
was  hard  to  bear.  "  Your  thoughts  are  very 
valuable,  tr£s  chere  ;  I  must  not  claim  too  many 
of  them ;  they  would  be  wasted  on  a  poor  patriot 
like  me.  And  thou,  Peggy,  how  didst  thou  like 
my  story,  eh  ?  " 

Rita  turned  so  suddenly  on  Peggy  that  the 
poor  child  had  not  time  to  shut  her  mouth, 
which  had  been  open  in  sheer  amazement. 

"Shut   it!"    said   Rita   sharply.      "Is   it   a 


186  THREE   MARGARETS. 

whale,  or  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  ?  I  asked  how 
you  like  my  story,  little  stupid.  Have  you  had 
sense  to  attend  to  it  ?  " 

Peggy's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  A  month  ago 
she  would  have  answered  angrily,  but  now  Rita 
was  her  goddess,  and  she  could  only  weep  at  a 
harsh  word  from  her. 

"I  — I  think  it  is  fine  for  a  story,  Rita,"  she 
answered  slowly.  "I  loved  to  hear  it.  But  —  " 
Her  blue  eyes  wandered  helplessly  for  a  moment, 
then  met  Margaret's  steady  gaze,  and  settled. 
"  But  if  such  a  thing  were  true,  Margaret  would 
be  right,  wouldn't  she  ?  " 

"And  if  you  removed  yourselves  now?" 
queried  Rita,  turning  her  back  to  them  with  a 
sudden  fling  of  the  fur  robe  over  her  shoulder. 
"  One  must  sleep  in  this  place,  or  be  talked  to 
death,  it  appears.  I  choose  sleep.  My  ears 
ring  at  present  as  with  the  sound  of  the  sea, 
—  a  sea  of  cold  babble !  Adios,  Senorita  Cali- 
bana,  Dona  Fish-blood  !  I  pray  for  relief  !  " 

Margaret  took  Peggy's  hand  without  a  word, 
and  they  went  out ;  but  Peggy  cried  till  dinner 
time,  and  would  not  be  comforted. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IN    THE    SADDLE. 
"  To  witch  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship." 

RITA'S  "  story "  was  not  the  first  thing  to 
rouse  suspicion  in  Margaret's  mind.  It  was 
rather  the  concluding  word  of  a  sentence  that 
had  been  forming  in  her  mind  during  the  last 
ten  days. 

Something  was  on  foot ;  some  mystery  hung 
about ;  she  had  felt  thus  much,  and  had  felt, 
too,  that  it  was  connected  with  Rita ;  but  all 
had  been  vague,  uncertain. 

Rita  had  been  receiving  many  letters  with 
the  New  York  postmark ;  but  what  of  that  ? 
It  was  not  Margaret's  business  to  take  notice  of 
her  cousin's  letters.  She  had  met  Rita  once  or 
twice  at  the  foot  of  the  garret  stairs,  evidently 
returning  from  a  visit  to  that  place  of  shadowy 
delight.  What  of  that  ?  Rita  had  said  each 
time  that  she  had  been  looking  for  such  and 


188  THREE   MARGARETS. 

such  a  costume ;  that  she  was  planning  a  charade, 
a  new  tableau,  that  would  be  sure  to  ravish  her 
cousins ;  and  in  the  evening  she  would  produce 
the  charade  or  the  tableau,  and  sure  enough,  it 
would  be  enchanting,  and  they  were  delighted, 
and  most  grateful  to  her  for  the  pains  she  took 
to  amuse  them.  And  yet  —  and  yet  —  had  she 
been  at  these  pains  until  lately  ?  Had  not  Mar 
garet  herself  been  the  one  who  must  think  of 
the  evening's  amusement,  plan  the  game,  the 
reading,  or  singing,  which  should  keep  the  three 
various  natures  in  harmonious  accord  ?  So  it 
had  surely  been,  until  these  last  ten  days ;  and 
now  — 

But  how  hateful  to  suspect,  when  it  might  be 
that  Rita  was  merely  feeling  that  perhaps  she 
had  not  done  her  share,  and  had  realised  that 
with  her  great  talent  and  her  lovely  voice  and 
presence,  she  was  the  one  to  plan  and  execute 
their  little  entertainments  ?  And  what  should 
Margaret  suspect  ?  It  was  not  her  nature  to  be 
anything  but  trustful  of  those  around  her ;  and 
yet — and  yet  — 

But  now  her  suspicions  had  taken  definite 
shape,  and  Rita  herself  had  confirmed  them. 


IN   THE   SADDLE.  189 

There  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt  that  she 
was  planning  to  take  advantage  of  their  uncle's 
continued  absence  to  aid  her  brother,  —  who  was 
in  New  York,  as  Margaret  knew,  in  spite  of 
Rita's  recent  declaration  that  he  was  in  the 
mountains,  —  and  to  conceal  arms  in  Fernley 
House,  and  have  them  shipped  from  there.  It 
seemed  impossible ;  it  seemed  a  thing  out  of  a 
play  or  a  novel,  but  she  could  not  doubt  the 
fact.  After  all,  Rita  was  a  person  for  a  play  or 
a  novel.  This  thing,  which  to  Margaret  seemed 
unspeakable,  was  to  Rita  but  a  natural  impulse 
of  patriotism,  a  piece  of  heroism. 

Of  course  she  would  not  be  able  to  do  it ;  no 
person  in  her  senses  would  attempt  such  a  thing, 
on  Long  Island,  only  a  few  miles  from  New 
York  ;  but  the  hot-blooded  young  Cubans  would 
not  realise  that,  and  they  might  make  some 
attempt  which,  though  futile,  would  bring  dis 
agreeable  consequences  to  Mr.  Montfort  and  to 
all  concerned.  What  was  Margaret  to  do  ?  The 
absurdity  of  the  whole  thing  presented  itself  to 
her  keenly,  and  she  would  have  been  glad 
enough  to  turn  it  all  into  a  jest,  and  take  it  as 
the  "  story  "  with  which  Rita  had  tried  to  rouse 


190  THREE    MARGARETS. 

her  cool-blooded  cousins ;  but  that  could  not  be. 
Rita  had  meant  every  word  she  said,  and  more ; 
that  was  evident.  What  was  Margaret  to  do  ? 
Her  first  thought  was  of  Mrs.  Cheriton  ;  her 
second  of  John  Strong,  the  gardener.  Aunt 
Faith  ought  not,  she  was  sure,  to  be  disturbed 
or  made  anxious ;  her  hold  on  life  was  too  slen 
der  ;  her  days  must  flow  evenly  and  peacefully,  as 
Uncle  John  had  arranged  them  for  her  ;  it  would 
never  do  to  tell  her  of  this  threatened,  fantastic 
danger.  But  John  Strong!  he  was  Mr.  Mont- 
fort's  confidential  servant,  almost  his  friend. 
Nay,  Aunt  Faith  had  spoken  of  him  as  "  a  good 
friend,"  simply  and  earnestly.  He  knew  Uncle 
John's  address,  no  doubt;  he  would  give  it  to 
her,  or  write  himself,  as  seemed  best.  It  was 
dreadful  to  betray  her  cousin,  but  these  were 
not  the  days  of  melodrama,  and  it  was  quite 
clear  that  Fernley  House  could  not  be  made  a 
deposit  of  arms  for  the  Cuban  insurgents  during 
its  master's  absence.  So  with  a  clear  conscience, 
though  a  heavy  heart,  Margaret  sought  the 
garden. 

John  Strong  was  there,  as  he  always  was  in  the 
morning,  fondling   his  roses,  clipping,  pruning, 


IN    THE    SADDLE.  191 

tying  up,  and  setting  out.  In  the  afternoons 
he  was  never  visible.  Margaret  had  heard  his 
voice  occasionally  in  Mrs.  Cheriton's  rooms,  but 
had  never  seen  him  there  ;  he  had  evidently  other 
work,  or  other  haunts  of  his  own,  which  kept 
him  out  of  the  way.  She  could  not  help  know 
ing  that  he  used  her  uncle's  private  sitting-room, 
but  she  took  it  for  granted  that  it  was  with  Mr. 
Montfort's  leave  and  for  his  business.  Rita 
might  mistrust  this  man ;  but  no  one  of  Northern 
blood  could  look  on  the  strong,  quiet  face  with 
out  feeling  that  it  was  that  of  one  of  nature's 
noblemen,  at  least. 

"John,"  said  Margaret,  after  she  had  admired 
the  roses  and  listened  to  a  brief  but  eloquent 
dissertation  upon  Catherine  Mermet  and  Mare- 
chal  Niel,  "  how  near  are  we  to  the  sea  ?  " 

"To  the  sea,  Miss  Margaret?  Call  it  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  The  rise  of  the  land  hides 
it  from  Fernley,  but  you  will  notice  that  we  are 
near,  by  the  sound  of  it;  and  you  have  been 
down  to  the  shore  a  number  of  times,  I  think." 

"  Yes  ;  oh,  yes !  I  know  it  is  very  near.  I 
was  only  thinking  —  John,  would  it  be  easy  for 
—  persons  —  to  come  here  from  the  shore,  with- 


192  THREE   MARGARETS. 

out  being  seen  ?  I  mean,  could  a  vessel  lie  off 
here  and  not  attract  attention  ?  " 

John  Strong  looked  at  her  keenly.  "That 
depends,  Miss,"  he  said.  "By  day,  no;  by  night, 
yes.  It  is  a  quiet  part  of  the  shore,  you  see." 

"  Do  you  know  when  Mr.  Montfort  is  coming 
home?"  was  Margaret's  next  question;  and  as 
she  put  it  she  looked  straight  into  the  gardener's 
brown  eyes,  and  they  looked  straight  into  hers. 
She  fancied  that  John  Strong  changed  colour  a 
little. 

"I  have  not  heard  from  him  lately,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  I  think  he  will  be  here  very  soon 
now.  Could  I  —  may  I  ask  if  anything  is  dis 
tressing  you,  my  —  Miss  Margaret  ? " 

Margaret  hesitated.  The  temptation  was 
strong  upon  her  to  tell  the  whole  tale  to  this 
man,  whom  she  felt  she  could  trust  entirely ; 
but  the  thought  of  Rita  held  her  back.  She 
would  say  what  was  necessary,  and  no  more. 

"I  —  I  think— "she  began  timidly,  "it 
might  be  well  for  you  to  be  watchful  at  night, 
John.  The  Cubans  —  I  have  heard  rumours  — 
there  might  be  vessels,  —  do  you  think,  possi 
bly—  " 


IN    THE    SADDLE. 


193 


She  broke  off.  The  whole  thing  seemed  like 
a  nursery  nightmare,  impossible  to  put  into 
plain  English  without  exposing  its  absurdity. 
But  John  Strong  glanced  at  her  again,  and  his 
eyes  were  grave. 

"  Miss  Rita  is  deeply  interested  in  the  Cuban 
war,  I  believe,"  he  said,  with  meaning. 

Margaret  started.  "How  did  you  know?" 
she  asked.  "Surely  she  has  not  — " 

John  Strong  laughed.  "Hardly,"  he  said. 
"  Miss  Rita  does  not  converse  with  menials.  It 
was  Peggy  —  Miss  Peggy,  I  should  say  —  who 
told  me  about  it.  She  was  quite  inclined  to  take 
fire  herself,  but  I  think  I  cooled  her  down  a  bit. 
These  are  dangerous  matters  for  young  ladies  to 
meddle  with.  I  think  she  told  me  that  young 
Mr.  Carlos  Montfort  was  now  in  New  York  ? " 

"I  —  I  believe  so,"  said  Margaret.  She  was 
angry  with  Peggy  for  talking  so  freely,  yet  it 
was  a  great  help  to  her  now,  for  John  Strong 
evidently  understood  more  of  the  matter  than 
she  would  have  liked  to  tell  him. 

"  You  may  trust  me,  Miss  Margaret,  I  think," 
he  said  presently,  after  a  few  moments  of  silent 
snipping.  "  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  know 


194  THREE   MARGARETS. 

anything  in  particular,  even  if  there  is  anything 
to  know.  I  am  an  old  soldier,  and  used  to 
keeping  watch,  and  sleeping  with  one  eye  open. 
You  may  trust  me.  You  have  said  nothing  of 
this  to  Mrs.  Cheriton  ? "  He  looked  up  quickly. 
"No;  I  thought  she  ought  not  to  be  dis 
tressed  —  " 

"  That  was  right ;  that  was  very  right.  You 
have  shown  —  that  is,  you  may  depend  on  me, 
young  lady.  May  I  cut  this  bud  for  you  ?  It 
is  a  perfect  one,  if  I  may  say  so.  Perhaps  you 
will  look  closer  at  it,  Miss ;  (Miss  Rita  is  observ 
ing  you  from  the  balcony,  and  you  would  not 
wish)  — there,  Miss.  I  shall  bring  some  cut 
flowers  into  the  dining-room  later,  for  arrange 
ment,  as  you  ask.  Good  morning,  Miss." 

Margaret  returned  to  the  house,  half  relieved, 
half  bewildered.  John  Strong  was  certainly  a 
remarkable  person.  She  did  not  understand 
his  position  here,  which  seemed  far  removed 
from  that  of  a  domestic,  but  after  all,  it  was 
none  of  her  business.  And  even  if  he  did  speak 
of  Peggy  by  her  first  name,  was  it  Margaret's 
place  to  reprove  him  ?  He  was  almost  old  enough 
to  be  Peggy's  grandfather. 


IN   THE    SADDLE.  195 

Rita  had  apparently  forgotten  the  storm  of 
the  day  before.  She  was  in  high  good  humour, 
and  greeted  Margaret  with  effusion. 

"  Just  in  time,  Marguerite.  Where  have  you 
been  ?  We  have  called  till  we  are  hoarse.  Look 
at  us ;  we  go  to  ride.  We  are  to  have  an  ex 
hibition  of  skill,  on  the  back  of  the  white  beast. 
Behold  our  costumes,  found  in  the  garret." 

Margaret  looked,  and  laughed  and  admired. 
Rita  was  dressed  in  a  long  black  velvet  riding- 
habit,  with  gold  buttons,  a  regal  garment  in  its 
time,  but  now  somewhat  rubbed  and  worn ;  a 
tall  hat  of  antique  form  perched  upon  her  heavy 
braids,  and  she  looked  very  businesslike.  Peggy 
had  found  no  such  splendour,  but  had  put  on  a 
scarlet  military  coat  over  her  own  bicycle  skirt. 
"Finery  is  good,"  she  said,  " but  not  on  horse 
back."  A  three-cornered  hat,  with  the  moulder 
ing  remains  of  a  feather,  completed  her  costume, 
and  she  announced  herself  as  the  gentleman  of 
the  party. 

"  Rita  was  saying  what  a  pity  it  was  there 
were  no  boys  here,  and  I  told  her  I  ought  to 
have  been  a  boy,  and  I  would  do  my  best  now," 
said  Peggy  good-naturedly.  Rita  made  a  little 


196  THREE   MARGARETS. 

grimace,  as  if  this  were  not  the  kind  of  boy  she 
desired,  but  she  nodded  kindly  at  Peggy,  and 
said  she  was  "  fine." 

"  And  you,  Marguerite  ?  How  will  you  ap 
pear  ?  Will  you  find  a  cap  and  spectacles,  and 
come  as  our  grandmother  ?  That  would  approve 
itself,  nest-ce-pas?"  It  was  laughingly  said, 
but  the  sting  was  there,  nevertheless,  and  was 
meant  to  be  felt. 

"  Oh,  I  should  delay  you,"  replied  Margaret. 
"  Let  me  come  as  I  am,  and  be  ringmaster,  or 
audience,  or  whatever  you  like.  I  never  rode 
in  my  life,  you  know."  Peggy  opened  wide  her 
eyes,  Rita  curled  her  lip,  but  Margaret  only 
laughed.  "  Frightful,  isn't  it  ?  but  how  would 
you  have  me  ride  in  my  father's  study  ?  And 
the  horses  that  went  by  our  windows  had  mostly 
drays  behind  them,  so  they  were  not  very  tempt 
ing.  Is  William  going  to  saddle  White  Eagle 
for  you,  girls  ?  " 

"  William  has  gone  to  the  mill,  or  to  bed,  or 
somewhere,"  said  Peggy.  "  I  am  going  to  sad 
dle  him  myself.  John  Strong  said  I  might." 

They  went  out  to  the  great,  pleasant  barn,  and 
while  Peggy  saddled  the  good  horse,  Rita  and 


IN    THE    SADDLE.  197 

Margaret  mounted  the  old  swing,  and  went  fly 
ing  backward  and  forward  between  the  great 
banks  of  fragrant  hay. 

"  Isn't  it  good  to  be  a  swallow  ? "  said  Mar 
garet.  "I  wonder  if  we  shall  really  fly  some 
day ;  it  really  seems  as  if  we  might." 

"  I  would  rather  be  an  eagle,"  said  Rita. 
"  To  flutter  a  little  here  and  there,  and  sleep 
in  a  barn,  —  that  would  not  be  a  great  life.  An 
eagle,  soaring  over  the  field  of  battle,  —  aha !  he 
is  my  bird  !  But  what  is  this  outcry  ?  Has  he 
bitten  thee,  Peggy?" 

For  Peggy  was  shouting  from  below ;  yet 
when  they  listened,  the  shouts  were  of  wonder 
and  delight. 

"  Oh,  girls,  do  just  look  here  !  There  is  a  new 
horse,  —  a  colt !  Oh,  what  a  beauty!  " 

The  girls  came  down  hastily,  and  ran  to  the 
door  of  the  second  box  stall,  which  had  been 
empty  since  they  came.  There  stood  a  noble 
young  horse,  j  et  black,  with  a  single  white  mark 
on  his  forehead.  His  coat  shone  like  satin,  his 
eyes  beamed  with  friendly  inquiry.  Already 
Peggy  had  her  head  against  his  shoulder,  and 
was  murmuring  admiration  in  his  ear. 


198  THREE   MARGARETS. 

66  You  lovely,  you  dear,  beautiful  thing,  where 
did  you  come  from  ?  Oh,  Margaret,  isn't  he  a 
darling  ?  Come  and  see  him  !  " 

Margaret  came  in  rather  timidly;  she  was 
not  used  to  animals,  and  the  horse  seemed  very 
large,  tramping  about  freely  in  his  ample  stall. 
But  he  received  her  so  kindly,  arid  put  his  nose 
in  her  pocket  with  such  confiding  grace,  that 
her  fears  were  soon  conquered.  Rita  patted  him 
graciously,  but  kept  her  distance.  "  Very  fine, 
my  dear,  but  the  straw  smells,  and  gets  on  one's 
clothes  so.  Saddle  me  this  one,  Peggy,  and  you 
can  have  the  white  one  yourself/' 

"  Are  we  —  have  we  leave  to  take  this  horse  ?" 
asked  Margaret,  colouring.  It  was  too  horrid 
that  she  must  always  play  the  dragon,  —  as  if 
she  liked  it,  —  and  of  course  the  others  thought 
she  did. 

"  Have  we  been  forbidden  to  take  the  horse, 
dear?"  asked  Rita  with  dangerous  sweetness. 
"  No  ?  But  perhaps  you  were  told  to  keep 
watch  on  us  by  your  friend,  the  servant,  who 
wears  his  master's  clothes  ?  Again,  no  ?  Then 
kindly  permit  me,  at  least,  to  do  as  I  think 
best." 


IN    THE    SADDLE.  199 

"  Oh,  Rita  !  "  cried  Peggy,  "  perhaps  we  ought 
not—" 

"  Chut!  "  cried  Rita,  flashing  upon  her  in  the 
way  that  always  frightened  Peggy  out  of  her 
wits.  "  Do  you  saddle  me  the  horse,  or  do  I  do 
it  myself  ? " 

Margaret  thought  it  was  highly  improbable 
that  Rita  could  do  it  herself,  but  she  said  no 
more.  A  difficulty  arose,  however.  There  was 
found  to  be  but  one  saddle.  "Never  mind!" 
said  Peggy.  "  I  can  ride  bareback  just  as  well 
as  saddleback ;  but  I  am  afraid,  Rita  —  " 

"Afraid!"  cried  Rita.  "You  too,  Peggy? 
My  faith,  what  a  set !  " 

"Afraid  the  saddle  will  not  fit  the  black!" 
said  Peggy,  looking  for  once  defiantly  at  her 
terrible  cousin.  "White  Eagle  is  so  big,  you 
see ;  the  saddle  was  made  for  him,  and  it  slips 
right  off  this  fellow's  back." 

Rita  fretted  and  stamped  her  pretty  feet,  and 
said  various  explosive  things  under  her  breath, 
and  not  so  far  under  but  that  they  could  be 
heard  pretty  well,  but  all  this  did  not  avail  to 
make  the  saddle  smaller  or  the  new  horse  big 
ger  ;  so  at  last  she  was  obliged  to  mount  White 


200  THREE   MARGARETS. 

Eagle,  and  to  have  the  mortification  of  seeing 
Peggy  vault  lightly  on  the  back  of  the  black 
beauty.  He  had  never  been  ridden  before, 
perhaps ;  certainly  he  was  not  used  to  it,  for 
he  reared  upright,  and  a  less  practised  horse 
woman  than  Peggy  would  have  been  thrown 
in  an  instant ;  but  she  sat  like  a  rock,  and 
stroked  the  horse  between  his  ears,  and  patted 
his  neck,  and  somehow  wheedled  him  down 
on  his  four  legs  again.  Margaret  watched 
with  breathless  interest.  This  was  all  new 
to  her.  Rita  looked  graceful  and  beautiful, 
and  rode  with  ease  and  skill,  but  Peggy  was 
mistress  of  the  situation.  The  black  horse  flew 
here  and  there,  rearing,  squealing  with  excite 
ment,  occasionally  indulging  in  something  sus 
piciously  like  a  "buck;"  but  Peggy,  unruffled, 
still  coaxed  and  caressed  him,  and  showed  him 
so  plainly  that  she  was  there  to  stay  as  long  as 
she  felt  inclined,  that  after  a  while  he  gave  up 
the  struggle,  and  settling  down  into  a  long, 
smooth  gallop,  bore  her  away  like  the  wind 
over  the  meadow  and  up  the  slope  that  lay 
beyond.  Now  they  came  to  a  low  stone  wall, 
and  the  watchers  thought  they  would  turn  back ; 


IN    THE    SADDLE.  203 

but  Peggy  lifted  the  black  at  it,  and  he  went 
over  like  a  bird.  Next  moment  they  were  out 
of  sight  over  the  brow  of  the  hill. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Margaret,  turning  to  Rita,  her 
face  aglow  with  pleasure,  "  wasn't  that  beau 
tiful  ?  Why,  I  had  no  idea  the  child  could 
ride  like  that,  had  you?  I  never  knew  what 
riding  was  before." 

Rita  tried  to  look  contemptuous,  but  the  look 
was  not  a  success.  "A  gentlewoman  does  not 
require  to  ride  like  a  stable-boy !  "  was  all  she 
said.  She  was  evidently  out  of  humour,  so 
Margaret  was  silent,  only  watching  the  hill, 
to  see  when  the  pair  would  come  galloping 
back  over  the  brow. 

Here  they  were !  Peggy  was  waving  her 
hand  —  her  hat  had  flown  off  at  the  first  cara 
cole,  and  Rita  had  ridden  over  it  several 
times  —  and  shouting  in  jubilation.  Her  hair 
flew  loose  over  her  shoulders,  her  short  skirt 
was  blown  about  in  every  direction,  but  her 
eyes  were  so  bright,  her  face  so  rosy  and  joy 
ous,  that  she  was  a  pleasant  sight  to  see,  as, 
leaping  the  fence,  she  came  sweeping  along 
over  the  meadow. 


204  THREE   MARGARETS. 

"  Hail ! "  cried  Margaret,  when  she  came 
within  hearing.  "Hail,  daughter  of  Chiron! 
gloriously  ridden,  0  youthful  Centauress ! " 

Peggy  did  not  know  who  Chiron  was,  but 
she  caught  the  approving  sound  of  the  words, 
and  waved  her  hand.  "  Come  on,  Rita !  " 
she  cried.  "Take  the  Eagle  over  the  fence! 
It's  great  fun.  I'm  going  to  try  standing  up 
in  a  minute,  when  he  is  a  little  more  used  to 
me." 

They  set  off  at  an  easy  gallop,  and  White 
Eagle  took  the  fence  well  enough,  though  it 
was  his  first,  and  he  was  no  colt,  like  the 
black.  Then  they  circled  round  and  round 
the  meadow,  sometimes  neck  and  neck,  some 
times  one  far  in  advance.  Generally  it  was 
Peggy,  for  the  black  was  far  the  swifter  ani 
mal  of  the  two  ;  but  now  and  then  she  pulled 
him  in,  like  the  good-natured  girl  she  was, 
and  let  her  cousin  gallop  ahead.  Margaret 
watched  them  with  delight,  not  a  pang  of  envy 
disturbing  her  enjoyment.  What  a  perfect 
thing  it  was !  how  enchanting  to  be  one  with 
your  horse,  and  feel  his  strong  being  added 
to  your  own !  How  — 


IN    THE    SADDLE.  205 

But  what  was  this  ?  All  in  a  minute,  some 
thing  happened.  The  black  put  his  foot  in 
a  hole,  —  a  woodchuck's  burrow,  —  stumbled, 
pitched  forward,  and  threw  Peggy  heavily  to 
the  ground.  He  recovered  himself  in  a  mo 
ment,  and  stood  trembling;  but  Peggy  lay 
still.  Margaret  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant. 
The  child  had  struck  her  head  on  a  stone, 
and  was  insensible,  and  bleeding  profusely 
from  a  cut  on  the  left  temple.  Rita  dis 
mounted  and  came  near. 

"  Some  water,  please ! "  said  Margaret. 
"  Bring  water  quickly,  Rita,  while  I  stop  the 
bleeding.  And  give  me  your  handkerchief, 
will  you,  before  you  go  ?"  She  held  out  one 
hand,  which  was  already  covered  with  blood; 
glancing  up,  she  saw  that  Rita  was  pale  as 
death,  and  trembling  violently. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  cried  Margaret.  "  Are  you 
hurt,  —  ill?  hold  her,  then,  and  I  will  run." 

«  No,  —  no  !  "  said  Rita,  shuddering.  "  It 
is  —  the  blood!  I  cannot  bear  the  sight.  I 
will  go  —  I  will  send  Elizabeth.  Is  she  dead, 
Margaret  ?  It  is  too  terrible  !  " 

"  Dead  ?    no  !  "    said    Margaret    vehemently. 


206  THREE   MARGARETS. 

"  She  is  only  stunned  a  little,  and  has  cut  her 
head.  If  I  had  some  water,  I  could  manage 
perfectly.  Do  go,  Rita  !  " 

Rita  seemed  hardly  able  to  move.  She  was 
ghastly  white ;  her  eyes  sought,  yet  avoided, 
the  red  stream  which  Margaret  was  checking 
with  steady  hand.  She  did,  however,  move 
toward  the  house ;  and  at  the  same  moment 
Margaret  had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  Peggy 
move  slightly.  The  blue  eyes  opened  part 
way;  the  mouth  twitched,  —  was  Peggy  gig 
gling,  even  before  she  regained  consciousness  ? 
Margaret  bent  over  her  anxiously,  afraid  of 
some  shock  to  the  brain.  But  now  the  eyes 
opened  again,  and  it  was  Peggy's  own  self  that 
was  looking  at  her,  and — yes!  undoubtedly 
laughing. 

"  Don't  be  scared,  Margaret,"  she  said,  speak 
ing  faintly,  but  with  perfect  command  of  her 
senses.  "  It  isn't  the  first '  cropper '  I  have  come ; 
I  shouldn't  have  minded  at  all,  only  for  my 
head.  But  —  I  say,  Margaret,  didn't  I  hear 
Rita  going  on  about  blood,  and  asking  if  I  was 
dead?" 

"Yes,  dear;   she   is   evidently  one  of  those 


IN    THE    SADDLE.  207 

people  who  faint  at  the  sight  of  blood.  And 
you  do  look  rather  dreadful,  dear,  though  I 
don't  mind  you  a  bit.  And  you  must  not  talk 
now  ;  you  truly  must  not !  " 

"  Rubbish  !  I'm  going  to  get  up  in  a  minute, 
as  soon  as  the  water  comes.  But  —  I  say,  Mar 
garet,  how  about  the  Cuban  war  ?  Do  you  sup 
pose —  the  rest  of  them — feel  the  same  way 
about  blood?  because — " 

"  Peggy,  I  am  surprised  at  you !  "  said  Mar 
garet.  "  Hush  this  moment,  or  I  will  let  your 
head  drop !  " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IN    THE    NIGHT. 

"  Quand  on  conspire,  sans  frayeur 
II  f  aut  se  f aire  conspirateur ; 
Pour  tout  le  monde  il  f  aut  avoir 
Perruque  blonde,  et  collet  noir  !  " 

PEGGY'S  injury  proved  to  be  slight,  as  she 
herself  had  declared,  but  the  jar  had  been 
considerable,  and  her  head  ached  so  that  she 
was  glad  to  be  put  to  bed  and  nursed  by  Mar 
garet.  Rita  hovered  about,  still  very  pale,  and 
apparently  much  more  disturbed  by  the  accident 
than  the  actual  sufferer.  She  put  many  ques 
tions  :  Would  Peggy  be  well  to-morrow  ?  Prob 
ably  still  weak  ?  Would  it  be  necessary  for  her 
to  remain  in  her  room  this  evening  ?  In  that 
case,  what  would  Margaret  do?  Would  she 
leave  her  to  Elizabeth's  care,  and  come  down  as 
usual  ? 

"  Certainly  not !  "  Margaret  replied.     "  Eliza- 


IN    THE    NIGHT.  209 

beth  will  stay  with  Peggy  at  tea-time,  but  other 
wise  I  shall  not  leave  her.  You  don't  mind 
staying  alone,  Eita  ?  Of  course,  there  is  not 
much  to  be  done ;  Peggy  is  not  ill  at  all,  only 
weak  and  tired,  but  she  likes  to  have  me  with 
her.  You  will  not  be  lonely  ?  " 

No;  Rita  had  letters  to  write.  She  should 
do  very  well.  Desolated,  of  course,  without  the 
two  who  were  her  soul  and  her  existence ;  but 
Margaret  understood  that  she  could  not  bear  the 
sight  of  sickness ;  it  had  been  thus  from  infancy. 
Margaret  nodded  kindly,  and  went  back  into 
Peggy's  room,  with  an  impression  that  Rita  was 
pleased  at  having  her  out  of  the  way.  Out  of 
the  way  of  what?  But  Margaret  could  not 
think  about  mysteries  now.  Peggy  wanted  to 
talk,  and  to  have  her  head  stroked,  and  to 
know  that  Margaret  was  near  her. 

"  Your  hand  is  so  smooth,  Margaret.  I  never 
felt  anything  like  it ;  and  the  smoothness  and 
coolness  seem  to  go  into  my  head,  and  stop 
the  aching.  Do  you  think  this  is  being  sick  ? 
If  it  is,  I  like  it." 

Margaret  saw  that  the  child  was  excited,  and 
her  eyes  were  overbright.  "  No ;  this  is  not 


210  THREE  MARGARETS. 

being  sick,"  she  said  quietly.  "  But  you  ought 
to  be  sleepy  by  this  time,  my  pussy.  Lie  still 
now,  like  a  good  child,  and  I  will  sing  to  you. 
Will  you  have  the  '  Bonny  House  o'  Airlie  ? ' : 

But  it  was  long  before  Peggy  could  be  quieted. 
She  wanted  to  talk.  She  was  full  of  reminis 
cences  of  former  "  croppers  "  in  the  lives  of  the 
various  members  of  her  family.  She  wanted 
to  tell  how  Jim  was  dragged  by  the  buffalo  bull 
he  was  taming ;  how  Pa  caught  the  young 
grizzly  by  his  paws,  and  held  him  until  George 
came  with  the  rifle ;  how  Brown  Billy  ran  away 
with  her  when  she  was  six  years  old,  and  how 
she  held  on  by  his  mane  till  he  lay  down  and 
rolled  in  the  creek,  and  then  swam  ashore.  Her 
brain  was  feverishly  excited,  and  it  was  not  till 
late  in  the  evening  that  Margaret  succeeded  in 
singing  and  soothing  the  tired  girl  to  sleep.  At 
length  Peggy  lay  still,  and  her  thoughts  began 
to  sink  away  into  soft  dreams,  lulled  by  the  soft 
hand  on  her  brow,  and  the  smooth,  sweet  voice 
in  her  ears.  She  opened  her  eyes  to  say,  "  I 
love  you,  Margaret ;  I  love  you  best,  over  and 
over,  all  the  time.  If  I  thought  I  didn't  for  a 
bit,  that  was  just  because  I  was  a  stupid,  and  she 


IN   THE   NIGHT.  211 

—  but  now  I  know."  And  Peggy  smiled,  and 
smiling,  fell  asleep. 

Margaret  sat  still  for  a  time,  listening  to  the 
breathing  that  grew  deeper  and  more  regular  as 
the  minutes  went  on.  She  had  brought  her 
own  bed  across  the  hall,  meaning  to  sleep  with 
Peggy,  in  case  of  her  waking  in  the  night; 
though  that  was  hardly  likely.  It  was  ten 
o'clock  now,  and  Rita  was  probably  asleep. 
She  would  go  down  for  a  moment  to  see  that 
all  was  well,  and  perhaps  have  a  word  with 
Elizabeth,  if  she  were  not  gone  to  bed.  She 
went  softly  to  the  door,  and  turned  the  handle 
noiselessly.  The  door  was  locked  ! 

Greatly  startled,  Margaret  stood  motionless 
for  a  few  minutes,  thinking  and  listening.  At 
first  all  was  still.  Footsteps  above  her  head,  — 
Elizabeth  was  going  to  bed ;  then  the  familiar 
creak  of  the  good  woman's  bed ;  then  silence 
again.  Rita's  room  was  across  the  hall,  and 
she  could  hear  no  sound  from  there.  Through 
the  open  window  came  the  soft  night  noises :  the 
dew  dripping  from  the  chestnut  leaves,  a  little 
sleepy  wind  stirring  the  branches,  a  nut  falling 
to  the  ground.  How  still ! 


212  THREE   MARGARETS. 

Hark  !  did  a  twig  snap  then  ?  Was  some  one 
moving  through  the  shrubbery,  brushing  gently 
against  the  leaves  ?  And  then,  as  her  heart 
stood  still  to  listen,  Margaret  heard  a  low,  mu 
sical  whistle.  She  stole  to  the  window,  and 
standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  curtain,  looked 
out.  A  light  was  burning  in  her  room,  and  at 
first  she  could  see  nothing  but  blackness  outside. 
Gradually,  the  outlines  of  the  great  chestnut 
stole  out  from  the  empty  darkness,  a  hard  black 
against  the  soft  gloom  of  the  night.  Then  the 
shrubbery  behind  ;  and  then  —  was  something 
moving  there  ?  Were  those  two  figures  standing 
by  the  tree  ? 

The  whistle  was  repeated ;  and  now  Margaret 
heard  the  swift  rustle  of  silk  brushing  against 
her  door,  then  fluttering  from  baluster  to  balus 
ter,  as  Rita  sped  down  the  stairs.  A  door 
opening  softly,  and  now  three  figures  stood 
under  the  chestnut-tree.  Words  were  whispered, 
greetings  exchanged;  then  the  three  figures 
stole  away  into  the  blackness. 

Margaret  felt  helpless  for  a  moment.  Locked 
in?  —  her  cousin  asleep  here,  exhausted  if  not  ill, 
and  needing  absolute  quiet,  —  and  going  on  down- 


IN   THE   NIGHT.  213 

stairs  —  what  ?  She  must  know  !  She  must 
call  John  Strong,  and  warn  him  that  her  fears 
were  realised,  and  that  unwelcome  visitors  were 
already  at  the  doors  of  Fernley,  perhaps  already 
within.  But  how  was  it  possible  ?  She  ran  to 
the  window  and  looked  down.  Full  twenty 
feet !  To  jump  was  impossible ;  even  Peggy 
could  not  have  done  it.  Peggy  !  yes  !  but  Peggy 
could  get  out.  Only  the  other  night  she  had 
had  a  climbing  frenzy,  and  had  slid  down  the 
gutter-spout,  half  for  the  joy  of  it,  half  to  tease 
Margaret,  who  was  in  terror  till  she  reached  the 
ground,  and  then  in  greater  terror  when  the 
young  gymnast  came  "shinning"  up  again, 
shouting  and  giggling.  The  spout !  Margaret 
stood  looking  at  it  now.  For  a  moment  her 
courage  deserted  her,  and  she  wrung  her  hands 
and  began  to  sob  under  her  breath ;  but  this 
would  not  do !  Her  nerves  knew  the  resolute 
shake  of  the  shoulders,  and  shrank  into  obedi 
ence.  She  set  her  lips  firmly,  and  there  crept 
into  her  face  a  certain  "dour"  look  that  may 
have  come  from  her  Scottish  ancestors.  "  If  a 
thing  has  to  be  done,  why,  it  must  be  done !  " 
she  said  to  herself.  "  Anyhow,  there  will  be 


214  THREE   MARGARETS. 

solid  ground  at  the  bottom,  not  a  quaking 
bog." 

Could  she  do  it  ?  She  had  never  climbed  in 
her  life.  She  had  been  wont  to  grow  dizzy  on 
any  great  height;  and  here  she  reflected  that 
she  had  inwardly  laughed  at  Rita,  a  few  hours 
before,  for  growing  dizzy  at  the  sight  of  blood. 
"  But  I  have  to  learn  so  many  lessons  !  "  said 
poor  Margaret,  and  with  that  she  laid  her  hand 
on  the  spout.  A  moment  longer  she  waited, 
but  no  longer  in  hesitation, — she  was  simply 
asking  for  strength  from  One  who  had  never 
refused  it  yet ;  then  she  clasped  the  pipe  with 
both  hands,  swung  herself  out  as  she  had  seen 
Peggy  do,  and  slid  down,  down,  down. 

Her  hands  were  torn  and  bleeding,  but  she 
reached  the  ground  in  safety,  falling  several 
feet,  but  escaping  with  a  few  bruises  which  she 
did  not  feel  at  the  time.  She  ran  round  the 
house  toward  the  east  wing,  where  the  garden 
er's  room  was,  but  stopped  half-way.  The  door 
of  the  ground-floor  room,  her  uncle's  private 
room,  was  open ;  a  light  was  burning  inside. 
Possibly  John  Strong  was  himself  on  the  watch, 
and  she  need  go  no  farther.  Margaret  turned 


IN    THE    NIGHT.  215 

hastily,  entered  the  room, —  and  was  confronted 
by  two  young  gentlemen  in  Spanish  cloaks  and 
broad-brimmed  hats. 

Margaret's  first  impulse  was  to  run  away; 
her  second,  to  stand  and  wait,  feeling  that  she 
was  at  a  play,  and  that  the  next  scene  was 
going  to  be  very  thrilling ;  but  the  third  impulse 
was  the  right  one,  and  she  stepped  forward, 
holding  out  her  hand. 

"  You  are  my  Cousin  Carlos,  I  am  sure ! "  she 
said,  addressing  the  taller  of  the  two  lads  (for 
they  were  only  lads,  she  saw  to  her  unspeakable 
relief ;  the  elder  could  not  be  more  than  twenty). 
"I  am  Margaret  Montfort.  You  —  you  have 
seen  Rita?" 

Don  Carlos  Montfort  gasped  and  bowed,  hat 
in  hand.  He  and  his  companion  were  evidently 
new  to  their  role  of  conspirators,  for  they  were 
piteously  ill  at  ease,  and  their  dark  eyes  roamed 
about  as  if  in  search  of  retreat ;  but  he  managed 
to  say  something  about  the  distinguished  honour 
—  a  spare  hour  to  visit  his  sister  —  delight  at 
making  the  acquaintance  of  a  relative  so  charm- 
ing?  —  here  he  stopped  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder,  for  footsteps  were  heard,  and  he  hoped 


216  THREE   MARGARETS. 

Rita  was  coming.  Already  he  and  his  comrade 
were  cursing  themselves  for  having  been  asses 
enough  to  be  drawn  into  this  scrape ;  why  had 
they  attended  to  a  foolish  girl  instead  of  going 
their  own  way  ?  Now  they  were  in  a  trap  — 
was  that  Rita  coming  ? 

The  door  of  the  secret  staircase  was  open, 
showing  which  way  the  girl  had  gone.  But  the 
steps  that  were  now  descending  were  heavy, 
though  quiet,  —  far  different  from  the  rush  of  an 
excited  bird  that  had  gone  up  a  moment  before 
Margaret's  appearance.  They  were  to  follow 
Rita,  —  she  went  to  light  a  candle.  Ah !  what 
was  this? 

The  young  men  recoiled,  and  their  dark  eyes 
opened  to  their  fullest  width ;  Margaret's  hands 
came  together  with  a  violent  clasp.  Down  the 
narrow  stair  and  into  the  room  came  a  man  in 
a  black  velvet  jacket ;  a  tall  man,  with  bright, 
dark  eyes  and  a  grave  face.  He  held  a  candle 
in  his  hand ;  he  set  it  down,  and  turned  to  the 
two  disconcerted  Spaniards. 

"My  nephew,"  said  Mr.  Montfort,  "I  am 
glad  to  welcome  you  and  your  friend  to  Fernley 
House.  I  am  your  Uncle  John  !  " 


IN   THE    NIGHT.  217 

Margaret  was  not  conscious  of  any  surprise. 
[t  seemed  part  of  the  play,  and  as  if  she  had 
known  it  all  along,  but  had  not  been  allowed  to 
realise  it,  for  some  dramatic  reason.  She  saw 
John  Strong  —  John  Montfort  —  shaking  hands 
with  the  two  unhappy  young  men,  and  trying 
to  put  them  at  their  ease  by  speaking  of  the  bad 
roads  and  the  poor  conveyances  that  were  un 
doubtedly  to  blame  for  their  arriving  so  late. 
She  saw  and  heard,  but  still  as  in  a  dream. 
Her  real  thought  was  for  Rita  ;  what  would 
she  do  ?  What  desperate  step  might  follow 
this  disconcerting  of  her  cherished  plan? 

Unconsciously  Margaret  had  moved  forward, 
till  now  she  stood  the  nearest  to  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  She  looked  up  into  the  darkness,  with 
some  thought  of  going  to  her  cousin,  telling  her 
gently  what  had  happened,  and  quieting  her  so 
that  she  might  come  down  and  face  the  situa 
tion,  and  meet  her  uncle.  All  at  once,  from 
that  darkness  above,  a  bright  light  sprang  up, 
and  the  same  instant  there  rang  out  a  wild  and 
terrible  shriek. 

"  Help  !  Carlos,  help  !  I  burn !  " 

The   three   men   started   forward,   but    they 


218  THREE    MARGARETS. 

were  not  the  first.  Margaret  was  conscious 
of  but  a  single  movement  as  she  flew  up  the 
stairs,  never  stumbling,  lighted  by  that  fear 
ful  glare  above.  To  spring  into  the  garret,  to 
drag  down  the  heavy  old  cloak  —  the  same 
that  once  had  frightened  the  three  girls  on 
their  first  visit  —  that  hung  close  by  the  stair 
way,  to  fling  herself  upon  Rita,  throwing  her 
down,  muffling  her,  smothering  and  beating 
out  the  flames  that  were  leaping  up  toward 
the  girl's  white,  wild  face,  —  all  this  was  done 
in  one  breath,  it  seemed  to  her.  She  knew 
nothing  in  the  world  but  the  fire  she  was 
fighting,  the  little  flames  that,  choked  down 
in  one  place,  came  creeping  out  at  her  from 
another,  playing  a  dreadful  hide-and-seek 
among  the  folds  of  the  cloak,  starting  up 
under  her  very  hands;  but  Margaret  caught 
them  in  her  hands,  and  strangled  the  life  out 
of  them,  and  fought  on.  It  was  but  a  moment, 
in  reality.  Another  second  or  two  and  the 
flames  would  have  had  the  mastery ;  but  Mar 
garet's  swift  rush  had  been  in  time,  and  the 
good  heavy  cloak  —  oh,  the  blessed  weight 
and  closeness  of  its  fabric  ! — had  shut  out  the 


IN    THE    NIGHT.  219 

air,  so  that  by  the  time  the  last  of  the  three 
anxious  pursuers  had  reached  the  garret,  the 
fire  was  out,  and  only  smoke  and  charred 
woollen  remained  to  tell  of  the  terrible  danger. 
Only  these  —  and  the  two  hands,  .burned  and 
blistered,  that  Margaret  was  holding  out  to  her 
uncle,  as  he  bent  anxiously  over  her. 

"  Don't   be   angry   with   her,  Uncle  ! "    cried 
the  girl.     And  she  knew  nothing  more. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

EXPLANATIONS. 

"  AND  she  really  is  not  hurt,  Uncle  John  ?  " 

"  Not  so  much  as  an  eyelash !  You  were  so 
quick,  child !  How  did  you  manage  it  ?  She 
had  only  time  to  scream  and  put  her  hands 
to  her  face,  before  you  were  upon  her.  The 
thing  that  flared  up  so  was  a  lace  shawl  she 
had  on  her  arm,  —  switched  it  into  the  candle, 
of  course  !  —  and  that  she  dropped.  It  is  not  of 
her  I  am  thinking,  but  of  you,  my  dear,  brave 
Margaret ! "  He  bent  over  her  tenderly  and 
anxiously ;  but  she  smiled  brightly  in  his  face. 

"Truly,  they  hardly  hurt  at  all!  As  you 
say,  I  must  have  been  very  quick,  and  the 
flames  were  only  little  ones.  Elizabeth  has 
bandaged  them  so  beautifully;  the  pain  is 
almost  gone  already." 

They  were  in  Margaret's  room ;  she  on  her 
sofa,  with  her  hands  swathed  in  bandages,  but 


EXPLANATIONS.  221 

otherwise  looking  quite  her  own  self,  only  a 
little  paler  than  usual ;  her  uncle  sitting  by 
her,  his  hand  on  her  arm.  Peggy  fluttered  in 
and  out  of  the  room,  entirely  recovered  from 
the  effect  of  her  fall  the  day  before,  and  proud 
beyond  measure  of  having  charge  of  Margaret, 
who  last  night  had  been  watching  and  tend 
ing  her.  Peggy's  nursing  was  of  doubtful 
quality;  already  she  had  baptised  Margaret 
twice,  —  once  with  gruel,  again  with  cologne, 
when  the  cork  with  which  she  had  been  strug 
gling  came  out  suddenly,  deluging  her  patient 
with  fragrance. 

But  her  good  will  was  so  hearty,  her  affec 
tion  so  ardent  and  so  anxious  to  prove  itself, 
that  Margaret  had  not  the  heart  to  deny  her 
anything,  and  submitted  to  having  her  hair 
brushed  in  a  style  that  was  entirely  new  to 
her,  and  that  made  her  wink  at  each  vigorous 
stroke  of  the  brush. 

Rita  had  not  been  seen  since  the  night  before, 
save  by  Elizabeth,  who  pronounced  her  well, 
but  "  a  little  upset,  Miss !  "  and  Elizabeth's 
face  was  a  study  in  repression  as  she  spoke. 

"  And   the   boys,  Uncle  ? "    Margaret   asked, 


222  THREE   MARGARETS. 

when  she  was  assured  of  Rita's  safety.  "  What 
have  you  done  with  them  ?  " 

Mr.  Montfort  laughed. 

"  Poor  boys  !  "  he  said.  "  Poor  lads  !  they 
have  had  a  hard  time  of  it." 

"  Oh,  do  tell  me !  "  cried  Margaret. 

"  Why,  they  are  all  right ;  the  boys  are  all 
right ! "  said  Mr.  Montfort.  «  It  is  that  little 
monkey  over  there,"  nodding  toward  Rita's 
room,  "who  has  made  all  the  trouble.  They 
have  been  fighting,  it  is  true,  and  have  been  in 
the  mountains  with  the  insurgents.  Very  inter 
esting  their  account  of  it  is,  too.  If  I  were 
thirty  years  younger  —  but  that  is  not  the 
point.  They  were  sent  to  New  York  by  their 
chief  on  private  business ;  something  of  impor 
tance,  but  perfectly  legitimate,  —  nothing  to  do 
with  arms  or  anything  of  the  kind.  Well,  Car 
los  did  not  tell  Rita  the  object  of  his  coming, 
and  she  instantly  saw  fire  and  gunpowder,  trea 
son  and  plot,  —  in  short,  cooked  up  a  whole 
melodrama  to  suit  herself, —  and  believed  it,  I 
have  no  doubt,  an  hour  after  she  invented  it. 
She  wrote  Carlos  mysterious  letters,  imploring 
him  to  come  to  her  secretly ;  that  her  fate  and 


EXPLANATIONS.  223 

that  of  her  country  depended  upon  his  faithful 
ness  and  silence;  that  she  was  surrounded  by 
spies —  " 

"Poor  Peggy  and  me!"  cried  Margaret. 
"And  you,  too,  Uncle  John!  She  has  really 
had  painful  suspicions  of  you." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt !  but  in  my  case  she  had 
a   right   to  suspicions.     We  will  come  to  that 
presently.     In  short,  the  boy  got  the  impression 
that  his  sister  was  immured  in  a  kind  of  dun 
geon,  surrounded  by  people  who  were  unkind  to 
her,  and  unable  to  get  away  or  to  call  for  help 
openly.     He  says  he  ought  to  have  known  bet 
ter,  for  apparently  she  has   been   acting   plays 
ever  since  she  was  short-ccated ;  but  this  time 
he   was   really    taken  in,  and   came   here   last 
night,  with  his  friend  and  cousin,  meaning  to 
rescue  his   sister  and  take  her  home  to  Cuba. 
Found  her  not  desiring  in  the  least  to  be  rescued, 
but  bent  on   hiding   them  both  in  the   garret, 
and  keeping  them  there  till  a  cargo  of  arms  and 
a  vessel  could  be  brought  from  New  York.    You 
know  the  rest.     Carlos  was  in  the  library  when 
I  came  up,  waiting  for  an  interview  with  Rita. 
I  think  it  may  be  a  lively  one." 


224  THREE   MARGARETS. 

"  And  the  other ;  the  cousin  ?  I  hardly  saw 
him.  They  were  both  so  embarrassed,  poor 
dears ! " 

"  Seems  a  good  little  fellow ;  good  little  fel 
low  enough  !  Gentlemanly  boys,  both  of  them. 
Carlos  is  much  more  of  a  person  than  the  other. 
He  —  Fernando  Sanchez  —  admires  Rita  a  good 
deal,  I  should  say,  and  tries  to  find  her  conduct 
admirable  ;  but  her  brother  —  hark  !  " 

Something  like  a  silken  whirlwind  came  rush 
ing  up  the  stairs  and  across  the  hall ;  something 
that  sobbed  with  fury,  and  stamped  with  feet 
that  were  too  small  to  make  much  noise ;  then 
a  door  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall  shut  with  a 
bang  that  made  the  solid  walls  quiver.  Mar 
garet  and  her  uncle  looked  at  each  other.  Pres 
ently  Peggy  came  in,  with  round,  frightened 
eyes. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Rita  ?"  she  asked. 
"  Has  she  been  in  here  ?  She  came  flying 
across  the  hall  just  now  —  oh,  dear  !  I  was  just 
coming  out  of  my  room,  and  she  took  me  and 
shook  me,  just  as  hard  as  she  could  shake. 
Why,  my  teeth  chattered,  Margaret !  and  then 
she  flung  off  into  her  room,  and  slammed  the 


EXPLANATIONS.  225 

door.  My  !  she  was  in  a  tantrum !  Oh,  I  — 
I  —  beg  your  pardon!"  She  faltered  at  the 
sight  of  her  uncle,  and  hung  back.  She  had 
only  learned  this  morning  of  the  astonishing 
transformation  of  her  friend  the  gardener  into 
the  unknown  and  formidable  relative. 

Mr.  Montfort  held  out  his  hand,  with  the 
smile  that  always  went  to  Peggy's  heart. 

"  Well,  Miss  Peggy,"  he  said,  "  and  what  roses 
will  you  have  to-day  ?  My  dear  child,"  he 
added,  seeing  that  she  was  really  distressed, 
"  you  are  not  really  troubled  at  my  little  mas 
querade  ?  I  am  going  to  tell  you  all  about  it 
soon,  —  as  soon  as  I  can  see  my  three  Margarets 
together.  I  feel  that  I  owe  you  all  an  explana 
tion.  Margaret  has  already  heard  part  of  my 
story,  and  when  Rita  comes  in,  as  I  hope  she 
will  do  soon,  —  I  sent  word  to  her  that  I  should 
be  glad  to  see  her  here  when  she  had  had  her 
talk  with  her  brother,  —  we  will  go  over  the 
whole  matter,  and  find  out  what  John  Strong 
and  John  Montfort  have  to  say  for  themselves." 

He  turned  the  subject,  and  began  to  talk  of 
the  garden  and  the  flowers,  in  his  usual  quiet, 
cheerful  way,  till  Peggy  began  to  steal  shy 


226 


THREE   MARGARETS. 


glances  at  him  under  her  eyelashes,  and  finally 
to  hold  her  head  up  and  smile  without  looking 
as  if  she  had  stolen  a  sheep. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait.  Before  they  had 
settled  the  position  of  the  new  rose-bed,  Rita's 
door  was  heard  to  open  softly ;  then  came  the 
sound  of  trailing  garments  in  slow  and  stately 
motion,  and  the  next  moment  Rita  entered  the 
room. 

She  was  dressed  in  deep  black  from  head  to 
foot.  A  black  veil  covered  he*  hair,  and  hung 
gracefully  from  her  shoulders,  and  in  her  hand 
she  carried  a  black  fan. 

There  were  dark  circles  under  her  eyes,  and 
she  looked  pale  but  lovely.  Mr.  Montfort  rose 
and  came  forward,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  My 
dear  niece,"  he  said  with  some  formality,  "let 
us  shake  hands  in  all  friendliness." 

But  Rita  did  not  take  the  outstretched  hand. 
Instead,  she  folded  her  hands,  and  sank  down  in 
the  deepest  and  most  beautiful  courtesy  that 
ever  was  seen.  Her  eyes  remained  downcast, 
the  long  lashes  resting  on  her  clear,  white  cheek. 

"  My  uncle,"  she  said,  and  her  tone  was  digni 
fied,  pathetic,  and  resentful,  all  in  one,  "  I  come 


RITA'S  APOLOGY. 


EXPLANATIONS.  229 

to  make  my  submission  to  you,  and  to  ask  your 
pardon  for  my  offences.  My  brother  demands 
it,  and  I  obey  the  head  of  my  house,  the  repre 
sentative  of  my  father.  I  pray  you  to  forgive 
me!" 

Mr.  Montfort  subdued  an  unruly  twinkle  in 
his  eyes,  and  answered  gravely  : 

"  I  pardon  you,  my  niece,  freely.  I  beg  you 
to  consider  the  matter  as  if  it  had  never  existed. 
My  house  is  yours,  and  all  that  it  contains ;  pray 
be  seated." 

Rita  looked  up,  startled  at  hearing  in  Eng 
lish  the  phrase  of  Spanish  courtesy  so  familiar 
to  her  ears ;  but  Mr.  Montfort' s  face  was  in 
scrutable,  as  he  brought  forward  a  chair,  and 
handed  her  to  it  as  if  she  were  a  duchess. 

But  Rita  was  not  ready  to  sit  down  yet ;  she 
had  arranged  her  scene,  and  must  go  through 
with  it.  She  advanced,  and  knelt  down  by 
Margaret's  couch.  "  Marguerite,"  she  said  sadly, 
"you  saved  my  life.  It  was  valueless,  I  have 
learned ;  it  was  not  worth  the  saving ;  neverthe 
less  I  thank  you  from  my  heart  of  hearts. 
I  — "  Here  she  caught  sight  of  the  bandaged 
hands,  which  Margaret  had  been  trying  to  con- 


230  THREE   MARGARETS. 

ceal  beneath  the  afghan.  Instantly  the  tragic 
mask  fell  from  Rita's  face,  and  left  a  real  human 
countenance,  full  of  pity  and  anxiety.  "  My 
dear  !  "  she  cried.  "  My  angel,  my  poor  suffer 
ing  Marguerite.  Ah !  you  sent  me  word  it  was 
nothing.  You  are  injured,  terribly  injured,  and 
by  my  fault.  Ah !  now  Carlos  must  let  me  die, 
as  I  desire.  Life  is  no  longer  possible  !  " 

The  words  were  extravagant,  but  there  was 
real  grief  and  distress  in  the  tone.  She  laid  her 
head  on  Margaret's  shoulder  and  sobbed  aloud ; 
and  Peggy  was  heartily  glad  to  hear  her  cry, 
and  cried  in  sympathy.  Margaret  could  not 
stroke  the  dark  head,  but  she  moved  her  own 
near  it,  and  whispered  little  comforting  words, 
and  kissed  the  soft  hair.  And  presently,  find 
ing  that  the  sobs  only  increased  in  violence,  she 
whispered  to  Rita  that  she  was  distressing  her 
uncle,  and  that  she  really  must  try  to  be  quiet 
on  his  account.  At  the  sound  of  his  name,  Rita 
froze  again,  though  not  to  her  former  degree  of 
rigour  ;  with  a  fervent  kiss  on  Margaret's  brow, 
she  rose,  and  finally  took  the  chair  that  had 
been  placed  for  her.  Mr.  Montfort  sat  down 
opposite,  and  a  brief  silence  followed.  He 


EXPLANATIONS.  231 

seemed  to  be  thinking  what  he  should  say.  At 
length  he  spoke. 

"  My  dear  nieces,  this  is  a  day  of  explanations, 
and  I  feel  that  I  owe  you  all  an  explanation 
of  my  conduct,  which,  doubtless,  must  appear 
strange  to  you.  I  —  well,  I  suppose  I  am  an 
eccentric  man.  I  have  always  been  considered 
so,  and  I  confess  not  without  apparent  reason. 
I  have  often  been  able  to  justify  to  myself  con 
duct  which  has  seemed  strange  to  others ;  and  it 
has  been  my  misfortune  to  live  so  much  alone, 
that  perhaps  I  may  rely  too  much  on  this  prac 
tice  of  self -justification. 

"  It  is  now  five  years  since  my  friend  and 
cousin,  Mrs.  Cheriton,  came  to  live  with  me. 
I  have  been  made  sensible,  by  her  sweet  and 
gracious  presence,  that  my  life  before  had  been 
very  grim  and  solitary,  and  I  determined  that 
it  should  be  so  no  more.  I  also  felt  that  while 
she  was  spared  to  me  it  would  be  a  happiness 
and  a  benefit  to  her  to  have  some  young  life 
about  the  house ;  to  have,  in  short,  some  young 
and  sweet  woman,  who  could  be  her  companion 
in  a  hundred  ways  that  would  not  be  possible 
for  a  solitary  bachelor  like  myself. 


232  THREE   MARGARETS. 

"  With  these  thoughts  in  my  mind,  I  naturally 
turned  to  the  young  women  directly  connected 
with  me,  —  to  the  daughters  of  my  brothers.  I 
had  never  seen  any  of  them ;  troubles  into 
which  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  enter  had 
made  me  withdraw  until  lately  from  all  society, 
and  I  had  not  felt  able  to  respond  to  the  kind 
invitations  sent  me  from  time  to  time  to  visit 
one  brother  or  another.  I  conceived  the  plan 
of  sending  for  you  three  cousins  to  spend  the 
summer  with  me,  with  the  idea  that  at  the  end 
of  the  time  I  might  ask  one  of  you  —  the  one 
who  should  seem  most  contented,  and  who  should 
be  best  suited  to  a  quiet,  country  life  —  to  —  a 
—  to  remain  longer.  This  was  my  first  plan. 
Perhaps  it  might  have  been  better  if  I  had 
adhered  to  it;  but  I  subsequently  modified  it, 
not  without  a  good  deal  of  thought.  It  would  be 
dull  for  you,  I  reflected,  —  triste,  as  Rita  would 
sav? — here  with  me.  A  strange  uncle,  an  elderly 
man,  unused  to  young  people,  could  not  fail  to 
be  a  constant  check,  a  constant  restraint  upon 
gay  and  youthful  spirits.  I  wanted  you  to  be 
happy,  so  I  decided  to  efface  myself  for  a  time, 
to  let  you  have  the  home  of  your  fathers  for 


EXPLANATIONS.  233 

your  own,  unhampered  by  the  presence  of  its 


owner." 


Margaret  made  a  motion  of  eager  remon 
strance,  but  her  uncle  checked  her  with  raised 
hand. 

"  One  moment,  my  dear !  I  now  come  to  John 
Strong." 

Eita  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  full  of  proud 
defiance. 

"  I  deceived  you ! "  he  went  on,  answering 
her  look.  "I  now  think  it  was  wrong,  and 
Mrs.  Cheriton,  I  ought  to  add,  was  opposed  to 
the  plan.  But  in  the  first  place  my  presence 
here  was  necessary  for  many  reasons ;  and  in 
the  second  place  I  wanted  to  see  you.  I  wanted 
to  see  you  as  you  really  were,  not  constrained  or 
on  good  behaviour,  or  in  any  way  changed  from 
your  own  true  selves.  I  think  I  succeeded." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  which  none  of 
the  girls  dared  to  break. 

"  My  name  is  John  Strong  Montfort.  I  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  spending  a  part  of  every 
day  among  my  plants  and  flowers,  for  reasons  of 
health  and  pleasure.  It  was  simple  enough  for 
me  to  go  from  my  private  rooms  to  the  garden, 


234  THREE   MARGARETS. 

to  use  the  private  staircase  which  —  a  —  with 
which  you  are  familiar/' — Peggy  winced  and 
Margaret  blushed,  but  Rita  continued  her  direct 
gaze  at  her  uncle  and  gave  no  sign,  — "  and  to 
pass  (by  a  way  that  has  not  yet  been  discovered) 
to  and  from  the  White  Rooms.  I  intended  to 
keep  up  this  little  farce  for  a  few  weeks  only, 
but  somehow  the  time  has  slipped  by,  and  each 
day  has  brought  you  some  new  occupation  which 
I  was  loath  to  interrupt.  Lately,  I  confess,  there 
has  been  a  new  incentive  to  secrecy,  and  perhaps 
—  Rita  —  perhaps  I  may  have  been  boy  enough, 
old  as  I  am,  to  enjoy  my  own  little  conspiracy, 
It  is  over;  the  play  is  played  out.  I  have 
already  made  my  peace  with  Margaret,  and  I 
think  Peggy  is  prepared  to  accept  my  expla 
nation.  What  do  you  say?" 

Rita  had  followed  every  word  with  breathless 
attention,  her  colour  coming  and  going,  her 
eyes  growing  momently  brighter.  Now,  at  this 
direct  appeal,  she  rose  and  flung  out  her  arms 
with  the  dramatic  gesture  so  familiar  to  two  of 
her  hearers. 

"  I  say  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  I  say  it  was  mag 
nificent  !  It  was  superb !  Marguerite,  do  I 


EXPLANATIONS.  235 

exaggerate  ?  It  was  inspired  !  My  uncle,  I  am 
prepared  to  adore  you  !  " 

Mr.  Montfort  looked  alarmed,  but  pleased. 
Rita  went  on,  glowing  with  enthusiasm. 

"  It  was  perfectly  conceived,  perfectly  carried 
out !  Ah,  why  were  you  not  on  my  side  ?  To 
gether,  you  and  I,  we  could  have  done  —  every 
thing  ! " 

"  You  did  not  ask  me,  my  dear !  "  said  Mr. 
Montfort  dryly.  There  was  that  in  his  look 
that  made  Rita  blush  at  last.  But  in  her 
present  mood  she  could  bear  anything. 

"  I  beg  again  your  pardon !  "  she  cried.  "  Un 
cle,  this  time  I  beg  for  my  own  self  pardon,  of 
my  own  will.  I  was  bad,  wicked,  abominable  ! 
Marguerite  was  right ;  she  is  always  right ! 
I  kneel  to  you  in  penitence ! " 

And  she  would  have  knelt  down,  then  and 
there,  if  her  uncle  had  not  stopped  her  hastily 
and  positively. 

"  Give  me  a  kiss  instead,  my  dear  !  "  he  said. 
"  We  have  had  heroics  enough  for  one  day, 
and  we  must  come  down  to  plain  common 
sense.  Rita,  Peggy,  Margaret,  —  my  three  Mar 
garet  Montforts,  —  I  wish  and  mean  to  love  -you 


236  THREE    MARGARETS. 

all."  He  stooped  and  kissed  each  girl  on  the 
forehead;  but  he  lingered  by  Margaret's  side, 
and  laid  his  hand  on  her  hair  with  a  silent 
gesture  which  held  a  blessing  in  it. 

"  Margaret,  you  must  rest  now ! "  he  said 
with  kind  authority.  "  Rita,  we  have  left  your 
brother  and  cousin  too  long  alone.  Come  with 
me,  and  let  us  see  what  we  can  do  to  make  them 
forget  their  untoward  introduction  to  Fernley 
House." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

FAREWELL. 

THE  days  that  followed  were  merry  ones  at 
Fernley  House.  Mr.  Montfort  insisted  on  treat 
ing  both  the  young  Cubans  as  his  nephews,  and 
found  them,  as  he  said,  very  pleasant  lads.  Car 
los  had  something  of  Rita's  fire,  but  with  it 
a  good  share  of  common  sense  that  kept  him 
from  folly.  Fernando  was  a  mild  and  gentle 
youth,  with  nothing  passionate  about  him  save 
his  moustache,  which  curled  with  ferocity.  His 
large,  dark  eyes  were  soft  and  melting,  his 
smile  pleased  and  apologetic ;  but  Rita  persisted 
in  considering  him  a  fire-eater  of  the  most  in 
cendiary  type,  and  enjoyed  this  view  so  much 
that  no  one  had  the  heart  to  undeceive  her. 
Altogether,  the  two  lads  made  a  charming  addi 
tion  to  the  party,  and  no  one  was  in  a  hurry  to 
break  it  up.  Rita  was  to  return  to  Cuba  with 


238  THREE   MARGARETS. 

her  brother,  but  Carlos  showed  a  most  thought 
ful  unwillingness  to  hasten  his  sister's  depar 
ture.  Peggy's  flaxen  hair  and  blue  eyes  had 
been  a  revelation  to  the  young  man,  accustomed 
to  dark  beauties  all  his  life,  and  he  found  "  Co 
sine  Paygi"  a  charming  companion.  They  were 
excellent  friends,  and  when  Eita  and  Fernando 
sighed  and  rolled  their  eyes  (as  they  were  very 
fond  of  doing),  Peggy  and  Carlos  laughed. 

Margaret  was  still  kept  a  little  quiet  by  her 
hands,  though  the  blisters  were  rapidly  healing. 
The  other  four  scampered  here  and  there, 
playing  hide  and  seek  in  the  house,  straying 
through  the  garden,  dancing,  singing,  from 
morning  to  night.  Margaret  was  always  at 
hand  to  welcome  them  when  they  came  in,  to 
listen  and  laugh,  or  sympathise,  as  the  case 
might  demand.  She  was  happy,  too,  in  her  own 
way,  but  she  found  herself  wondering,  as  she 
had  wondered  before,  whether  she  were  seven 
teen  or  thirty-seven,  and  there  was  no  doubt  in 
her  mind  that  Uncle  John  was  nearer  her  in 
age  than  any  of  the  others.  Her  heart  was  full 
of  quiet  happiness,  for  this  dear  uncle  had  asked 
her  if  she  would  stay  with  him,  would  make  her 


FAREWELL.  239 

home  here  at  Fernley  with  him  and  Aunt  Faith. 
She  felt  as  if  nothing  in  the  world  could  have 
given  her  such  happiness,  and  she  shook  her 
head,  smiling,  at  Rita's  violent  protestations 
that  she  must  come  to  Cuba,  and  at  Peggy's 
equally  earnest  prayers  that  she  would  come  out 
with  her  to  the  Ranch. 

"Some  day!"  was  all  she  could  be  brought 
to  say,  when  her  cousins  hung  about  her  with 
affection  whose  sincerity  she  could  not  doubt. 

"  Some  day,  dear  girls,  when  Uncle  John  can 
come  with  me.  As  long  as  he  needs  me  here, 
here  I  stay !  " 

And  Peggy  would  pout  and  shake  her  shoul 
ders,  and  Rita  would  fling  away  and  call  her 
an  iceberg,  a  snow-queen,  with  marble  for  a 
heart ;  and  two  minutes  after  they  would  both 
be  waltzing  through  the  hall  like  wild  creatures, 
calling  on  Margaret  to  observe  how  beautifully 
the  boys  were  learning  the  new  step. 

The  young  men  had  been  taken  to  visit  Mrs. 
Cheriton,  and  came  away  so  deeply  smitten 
that  they  could  talk  of  nothing  else  for  some 
time.  Rita  and  Peggy  opened  their  young  eyes 
very  wide  when  Carlos  declared  she  was  the 


240  THREE   MARGARETS. 

most  beautiful  person  he  had  ever  seen,  and 
Fernando  responded  with  fervour : 

"  She  eess  a  </odess !  the  wairld  contains  not 
of  soche." 

But  the  goddess  could  not  dance,  nor  play 
"  I  spy !  "  and  the  girls  soon  had  it  their  own 
way  again. 

And  so  the  day  came  when  the  dancing 
and  playing  must  stop.  The  day  came,  and 
the  hour  came;  and  a  group,  half  sad,  half 
joyful,  was  gathered  on  the  stone  veranda, 
while  White  Eagle  stood  ready  at  the  foot  of 
the  steps,  with  William,  waiting  to  drive  the 
four  travellers  to  the  ferry.  Four ;  for  Peggy 
was  to  be  met  in  New  York  by  a  friend  and 
neighbour  of  her  father's  who  was  to  take  her 
home. 

Peggy's  eyes  were  red  with  weeping.  Her 
hat  was  on  wrong  side  before,  and  her  veil 
was  tied  in  a  hard  knot,  as  it  had  been  on  the 
night  of  her  arrival;  but  Peggy  did  not  care. 
She  submitted  while  Margaret  set  the  hat 
straight;  then  clung  round  her  neck,  and 
sobbed  till  Carlos  was  quite  distracted.  "  Mar 
garet,  I —  I  want  to  tell  you!"  she  whispered 


FAKEWELL.  241 

through  her  tears.  "I  am  going  to  be  a  dif 
ferent  girl  at  home  now.  I  am  going  to 

try  —  to  remember  the  way  you  do  things, 
and  to  be  a  little  like  you.  Oh,  Margaret, 
only  a  little  !  but  I  want  you  to  think  that 
I  am  trying,  and  —  and  —  I  will  remember 
about  my  buttons  —  and  —  have  my  boots 
blacked.  Oh,  Margaret, ,  you  have  been  so 
good  to  me,  and  I  do  love  you  so,  and  now  I 
—  am  —  going  away  to  leave  you!" 

Margaret  was  in  tears,  too,  by  this  time, 
seventeen  having  got  the  upper  hand  of  thirty- 
seven  completely. 

"My  dear!"  she  said.  "My  dear,  darling 
little  Peggy,  I  shall  miss  you,  —  oh,  so  much ! 
And  dear,  you  have  taught  me  as  much  as  I 
have  taught  you,  and  more.  Think  of  the 
bog!  oh,  Peggy,  think  of  the  bog!  and  the 
gutter-spout!  I  shall  never  be  such  a  coward 
again,  and  all  because  of  you,  Peggy.  And 
we  will  write  to  each  other,  dear,  every  week, 
won't  we  ?  and  we  will  always  be  sisters,  just 
the  same  as  own  sisters.  Good-bye,  my  little 
girl !  good-bye,  my  dear  little  girl !  " 

The  sobbing  Peggy  was  lifted  into  the   car- 


242  THREE   MARGARETS. 

riage ;  and  now  it  was  Rita's  turn  to  cling  about 
Margaret  with  fondest  words  and  caresses. 

"  Marguerite,  we  part ! "  she  said.  "  Tr&s  chdre, 
how  can  I  leave  thee  ?  I  —  I  have  learned  much 
since  I  came  here.  We  are  different,  yes !  but  I 
know  that  it  is  lovely  to  be  good,  though  I  am 
not  good  myself.  You  would  not  have  me 
good,  Marguerite  ?  It  would  destroy  my  per 
sonnel  !  But  I  love  goodness,  and  thee,  the  spirit 
of  it.  Don't  shake  your  head,  for  I  will  not 
submit  to  it.  You  are  good,  I  tell  you,  —  good 
like  my  mother,  my  angel.  You  will  think  of 
me,  cMrie?  —  you  will  think  of  your  Spanish 
Rita,  and  warm  your  kind,  cool  heart  with  the 
thought  ?  Yes,  I  know  you  will.  You  will  be 
happy  here  with  the  uncle.  Yes !  he's  like  you, 
—  you  will  suit  each  other !  For  me,  it  would 
be  death  in  two  weeks ;  yet  he  is  noble,  he  has 
the  grand  air.  Trds  chdre,  I  have  left  for  you 
the  bracelet  with  the  rubies ;  it  is  on  your  toilet- 
table.  You  admired  it,  —  it  was  yours  from  that 
moment,  but  I  waited,  for  I  knew  that  one  day 
we  must  part.  They  are  drops  of  blood,  Mar 
guerite,  from  my  heart,  —  Rita's  heart,  —  which 
beats  ever  for  you.  Adios,  mi  alma  !  " 


FAREWELL.  243 

All  this  was  poured  into  Margaret's  ear  with 
such  rapidity  and  fire  that  she  could  make  no 
reply  ;  could  only  embrace  her  cousin  warmly, 
and  promise  constant  thought  and  frequent 
letters. 

And  now  Carlos  was  bending  to  kiss  her 
hand,  rather  to  her  confusion.  He  regarded  her 
with  awe  and  veneration,  and  murmured  that 
she  was  a  lily  of  goodness.  Fernando  was 
saluting  her  with  three  bows,  each  more  mag 
nificent  than  the  other.  Mr.  Montfort  kissed 
the  girls  warmly,  shook  hands  cordially  with 
the  young  men. 

Hands  were  kissed,  handkerchiefs  waved. 
Peggy,  drowned  in  tears,  looked  back  to  utter  a 
last  farewell. 

"  Good-bye,  Margaret !  Good-bye,  darling  Mar 
garet  !  Don't  forget  us  !  " 

They  were  gone,  and  Margaret  stood  on  the 
veranda  and  wept,  her  heart  longing  for  her 
mates;  but  presently  she  dried  her  eyes,  and 
looked  up  to  greet  her  uncle  with  a  smile. 

"  Dear  girls  !  "  she  said ;  "  it  has  been  so  good, 
so  good,  to  have  them  and  know  them.  You 
have  given  us  all  a  great  happiness,  Uncle  John. 


244  THREE   MARGARETS. 

And  now  they  are  going  home  to  their  own 
people,  and  that  is  well,  too." 

"And  you  are  staying  at  home/'  said  John 
Montfort,  "  with  your  own  people.  This  is  your 
home,  Margaret,  as  long  as  it  is  mine.  I  cannot 
be  your  father,  dear,  but  you  must  let  me  come 
as  near  as  you  can,  for  we  have  only  one  an 
other,  —  you  and  Aunt  Faith  and  I.  You  will 
stay,  always,  will  you  not,  to  be  our  light  and 
comfort  ?  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  ever  let  you 
go  again." 

"  Oh,"  said  Margaret,  and  her  eyes  ran  over 
again  with  happy  tears,  "  Oh,  if  I  can  really 
be  a  comfort,  Uncle,  I  shall  be  so  glad  —  so 
glad  !  but  I  know  so  little  !  I  am  —  " 

But  Uncle  John  had  only  one  word  to  say, 
and  that  was  the  one  word  of  an  old  song  that 
he  loved,  and  that  his  mother  had  sung  to  him 
when  he  was  a  little  lad  in  the  nursery : 

"  Weel  I  ken  my  ain  lassie ; 
Kind  love  is  in  her  e'e  I " 


THE   END. 


37097 


